Strangers When We Meet
by xX-Misty
Summary: Third story following Out of the Window and Absolute Beginners. Gene and Alex are pursuing a dealer when the arrival of a familiar face throws their happy, mid-90s existence into chaos. Is the nature of Gene's world in danger when someone knows too much?
1. Prologue: Yes, He Did Say Latte

**Prologue**

"Guv, come _on," _Alex dragged him out of the coffee shop by the sleeve.

"_Oi, watch my latte," _Gene cried, protecting his cardboard cup.

Alex yanked open the passenger door and threw herself inside.

"I will _never_ get used to hearing you say 'latte'," she sighed.

Gene opened the door on the driver's side, carefully placed his cup in his special holder and felt aware that Alex was glaring at him.

"I'm not putting the innards of my brand new car at the mercy of coffee stains," he explained, "the only substances I will allow to be spilled in here are…"

"Don't -" Alex began, holding up her hand, "- even _try _to finish that sentence."

"Well you'd never do it in the Merc," Gene began haughtily, "you said you'd do it in a Fiat."

"In the _flat," _sighed Alex, "I said I'd only do it in the flat, you just misread the note!"

"You need to work on your handwriting," Gene mumbled.

"We'll discuss a full list of appropriate and inappropriate places later on," Alex hissed through gritted teeth, "if we don't get moving now we'll miss our chance to nail Nailer!"

Gene shook his head slowly as he started the car and began to drive away at top speed.

"No sense of adventure," he sighed, "that's your problem."

Along road after road they screeched, tyres barely touching the ground, joining the three-car strong chase for the drug dealer that had been evading them for the past two years.

"We've got to get him, Guv," Alex still couldn't break the habit of calling Gene by that name, even though she'd been of an equal rank for pretty much a decade. She looked at him as he cruised through the streets at an astonishing speed. "Ten years from now he's going to supply thirty percent of the drugs that come into the capital."

"He's not doing badly with what he's doing _now,_" Gene mumbled, "slippery sod."

He took a sharp corner, then slammed on his breaks at the sight before him. It looked as though one of the other cars that had been in pursuit of Nailer had overturned somehow, bouncing along the road as it flipped and knocking into other cars to send them scattering around the road like some strange kind of traffic-snooker.

"_Shit!_ Alex gasped, relived that Gene's response had been so fast and terrified to think of the injury and damage that had occurred to the inhabitants of the other vehicles.

As Nailer sped off into the distance, eluding capture for the fifth time in two years, Alex and Gene opened their doors and stepped out of the cars, their hearts racing and eyes fixed on the vehicles in front of them as the first car stopped flipping and came to a halt. From somewhere inside it an arm emerged through the passenger side, followed by a head and finally the rest of a staggering, bruised and battered body.

"_No,"_ they could hear the injured man cry as they looked on, "No, it _can't_ be… I _can't…_"

Alex gasped and slammed her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God," she hissed, "Gene, I think…. I think it's…"

She trailed off, but Gene didn't need her to finish her sentence.

"Bloody hell," he declared, arms folded in horror, "as I live and breathe. Well, look who's back from the dead."

The two looked on as the man before them threw his hands to his head and passed out in shock.

Alex scratched her forehead.

"I think it's going to be one of those days," she sighed.

Gene nodded.

"I'll get the smelling salts" he said.


	2. Chapter 1: Hair of the Dog

**Chapter One**

"_It had to be today, didn't it?"_

Simon sighed as he turned the steering wheel sharply to the right and turned into the practically disused haulage yard. Of all the days the raid could have taken place, it _had_ to be today. It wasn't just the fact that it was his day off. It wasn't even the fact that it was his first full day off in two weeks. It wasn't the fact that this wasn't even his case, or that he'd been roped into it because they needed someone to oversee the recovery of some computer files which at some point would probably lead to his first visit to the techies in the sever room since his accident. It was much more than that.

"Today of all days," he sighed, "It just _had_ to be."

_Like he wasn't nervous enough as it was. _

His David Bowie CD blared out as he came to a halt. It was strange, he reflected, the turnaround in his attitude since the showdown with Keats and saving the comatose Alex. Where as before the sound of his favourite 80s music would send him into a panic and cause him flashbacks that stung his soul, hearing those songs now reminded him of the battle he'd won and the difficulties he'd beaten. They were a sign of his strength and reminded him how far he'd come.

He switched off the music and reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small box within.

"_Of all the moments, on all the days…" _he grumbled.

The moment he received the call had annoyed him as much as anything. So had his unconsidered response to the station.

"…_But I'm at the jewellery store!"_ was one that would take him years to live down.

He could still hear the laughter ringing in his ears, along with one comment shouted out by his DI who thought inventing Shoebury Bling was a good idea. Couldn't he have thought up some excuse? Or even just decided not to blurt out his current location?. For a DCI, thinking on his feet was not one of his strong points.

He pulled out the little box, checking it was shielded under the dashboard from prying eyes, and looked at his purchase quickly. Just staring at it made his heart thump in his chest and he felt as though he couldn't breathe. He murmured a few words under his breath as though trying them out for size. That was more than he'd been able to do with the shiny, platinum band that sat in his palm, tucked away in its box. He'd been rushed so much by the urgent call that he had to buy it in a hurry and just hoped it was the right size.

Seeing a couple of figures walking towards him, he knew he had no more time to think things through just yet and hurriedly snapped the box shut, almost taking a finger with it, then slipped it into his pocket. He opened the door and stepped out of the car, pulling his collar up around his neck to shut out the strong winds and walked towards the two incoming figures.

"DCI Shoebury?" one of them asked.

"That's me," sighed Simon.

The man extended his arm.

"I'm DI March, this is DS Fullerton," he began with a firm handshake, "your DI brought you up to speed, I take it?"

"Erm," Simon blushed, recalling the _'Choose Shoebury Bling for all your rings!'_ jingle that Sally had created halfway through giving him the lowdown on the case, "of a fashion."

"We're hoping it should be pretty straightforward," March told him as they began to pace towards a crowd of uniform, CID, sniffer dogs and curious members of the public who were being constantly shoed away by various frustrated coppers. "We've been trying to get close to this dealer for some time. He's been on our radar for close to two decades but he's evaded us at every step. Finally we found someone close enough to him who wanted out of the business that we got the information we needed ."

They stopped walking and stared at a couple of stacked up portacabins.

"So Nailer's actually on the premises?" Simon asked.

"We think so," Fullerton told him, "we've had the place under surveillance for five days now, tracked his every move, he entered the building at nine this morning and there's been no sign of any movement since."

"We've heard he's on the verge of packing up and moving his business again," said March, "so we've got to act today, before we lose him again and the scent goes cold."

"We don't think he stashes a huge amount of the drugs here," said Fullerton, "but he runs his business from this yard and we believe he has computerised records of his associates, suppliers, and downline in there. They'll be encrypted, and he may even try to destroy them."

Simon scratched his head and nodded.

"We'll deal with it," he said, "We'll get as much info as we can off his machines."

"We appreciate the fast response," said March with a friendly slap on the back that came a little too hard for Simon's liking and made him cough and choke. As he watched March and Fullerton walk briskly in the direction of some _POLICE _tape he put his hands in his pockets and let out his breath noisily. He felt the box in there again. For a moment he'd forgotten all about it but now his fingers had encountered it he felt his heart leap again.

As his eyes surveyed the scene he was surprised to spot a familiar face in the distance, who spotted him at the same moment and started to walk towards him. Simon began to do the same, a smile across his face.

"Hey you," he grinned, "fancy seeing you here."

The smiling face of Robin came closer.

"You can't leave me alone for five minutes, can you?" he said. "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be your day off."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"Tell me about it," he grumbled.

Robin looked behind him where his team were busy looking after three trained police dogs.

"They they are…" he grinned cheekily, "…your best friends!"

Simon pulled a face. As much as he loved Robin he didn't like the canine company he kept. One unfortunate childhood incident with a small dog and he was literally scarred for life. It was a sign of how much he loved Robin that he was able to overlook the whole dog-handling part of his career.

Robin on the other hand was a natural. From an early age he'd wanted to work with animals but when the whole _lion taming _thing hadn't worked out the way he planned he dusted off his remaining digits and went back to the drawing board. Deciding to join the police force after university he immediately became interested in the dog unit and, after proving himself to be a reliable officer, was accepted for training. Showing his natural skills, he found himself fast tracked and before he could catch his breath he was heading up the unit. His one disappointment in his position was giving up the dog that had become his own_. Cassandra, _he'd called her, a beautiful Labrador who had been trained especially for sniffing out the interesting array of substances they were on the look out for today. He knew the officer who now took charge of her was more than capable of handling her and taking good care of her, but he still missed having her around.

"You leave me out of the slobber patrol," Simon commented, eying up a particularly drool-worthy canine, "I'll stick with my nice, friendly computers."

"They've not been very friendly to you in the past," Robin commented cheekily, poking Simon in the head and running back toward his unit with a laugh.

"Oh, _ha ha_, very funny," Simon put his hands on his hips in a fake huff, "one day you'll get a dog landing on your head and then we'll be even!"

Simon could joke about it now. In fact, he was very good at joking about the whole situation. The aftermath of Keats's demise and the weeks that followed while he recuperated were very strange indeed. Suddenly Simon was on the front page of every paper, appearing on every news bulletin, interviewed in the local and national press and reaching hero status. He received invitations to appear on _Newsnight_ and _Have I Got News for You_, found himself headhunted to become the spokesperson for file server safety within the police force and there was even talk of a shoe sponsorship deal at one point.

Simon was relieved when the fuss died down but the surrealism of those few weeks made the transition to a more fulfilling and outgoing life easier. He was safe from Keats-related nightmares now too, although programmes such as Channel 4's _Dispatches_ special - _Jim Keats: Where Did It All Go Wrong? _didn't help matters.

He fingered the box in his pocket again and mumbled a few words under his breath.

"_Robin, these last few months have shown me…" _he shook his head. It wasn't enough. _"Rob, without you I don't think I would have made it this far…" _still not right. He sighed as he watched armed officers edging closer to the Portacabins. _Must be time for action,_ he thought, stepping closer to the crowd.

Close enough to see, distant enough to hear only a mumble, he watched the officer in bullet proof vests surround the decrepit building and order their suspect out of it. He watched the officers scuttling around like mice, the dogs awaiting their cue and March and Fullerton preparing to enter by force if necessary.

What none of them had been anticipating was a motorbike bursting through a false, getaway panel on one side of the cabin at top speed with a bullet-proof Nailer mounted on the roaring beast. As officers scattered out of the way of the vehicle and others aimed their guns in his general direction he held his own gun aloft and fired three random shots into the dog handling unit before speeding away through every barrier the police had thought would hold him.

"_No!"_ an ear-splitting shriek came from somewhere and Simon looked around just in time to see Robin diving to the floor. Fearing one of the shots had caught him, he ran as fast as his body would allow across the yard to where Robin had dropped. Blood was everywhere which caused Simon to panic for a moment but as he drew closer he saw that Robin was not the source.

"_The bastard!"_ Robin's angry, tear-laden voice cried out, "He shot my dog! He shot my fucking dog!"

Simon's eyes dropped to the sight of Cassandra laying on the ground, blood pooling around her as officers raced around trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Oh God, _Robin…" _Simon barely knew what to say, "I… she'll be OK… they'll get her to the vet…"

Robin gasped for air, the shock of the event knocking the breath out of his body.

"The bastard," he repeated, "He's going to pay…. _you're going to pay for that!"_ he screamed into the ether, as though Nailer could hear him. To Simon's horror he watched Robin tearing toward one of the squad cars and opening the door.

"Hey, wait," he cried, "where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to get the bastard!" Robin cried.

"Rob, you don't know where he's gone!" Simon cried "there are already two cars going after him with two officers apiece, look! What makes you think you're going to get to him faster than they will?"

"Because he didn't shoot _their_ bloody dogs!" cried Robin, "get in!"

Simon too a step back.

"I can't!" he cried.

"Get _in!"_

"Robin, listen to me!" Simon cried, "they're already getting Cassandra in that van to take her for emergency treatment. She'll be alright. Go with _her."_ Robin ignored him and climbed into the car. "You can't drive off like this! The state you're in, you'll run someone off the road! You need to calm down! You at least need someone to come with you."

"Then get _in!"_ Robin urged one last time, pushing open the passenger door.

Simon took a deep breath. He knew it was wrong. He knew they could both end up in big trouble for this, but seeing Robin in such an angry state left him with little choice. He could at least try to be the voice of reason.

"I think I'm going to regret this," he muttered, climbing quickly into the seat beside him and barely having time to close the car door before Robin sped away. "Hey! _Seatbelts!"_

"No time," Robin stared straight ahead, speeding up as quickly as the car would allow.

Simon gulped.

"Please, Rob, I know you're angry but driving like this isn't going to help anyone!" he cried, "you don't even know where you're going!"

"I'm following the side road," said Robin, "it heads straight to the airfield. I'll bet he's got a plane on standby."

"They'll have alerted the airport by now," Simon griped the seat so hard his knuckles turned white, "_Please, slow down!"_

"I've got to get to him," Robin hissed.

"And do what when you get there?" cried Simon, "Just listen to yourself! I know you love that dog but what do you think is going to happen if you get to the guy? Are you going to kill him? Punch him? What kind of charges are you going to face, Robin?"

"I just want to _get_ to him," Robin cried, "I want to make sure he's not going to get away with this!"

"He _won't!"_ cried Simon, "but this is not the way."

"Then what would _you_ have me do, hmm?" cried Robin, turning to face him, "sit down with a nice cup of tea, waiting for the news that he's disappeared off into the night, never to be seen again?"

In an instant, Simon's eyes bolted.

"Robin, Look _out!"_ he screamed.

Robin turned his eyes back to the road a moment too late. A fallen tree in his path sent the car careering across the road, turning over and over as Simon and Robin were thrown around inside it like flakes in a snow globe.

As the car reached the end of its flipping, spinning journey and came to a halt upside down, both Robin and Simon lay deathly still beneath the battered metal frame.

Silence fell.

Everything froze.

Blackness descended.

Deep, deep darkness.

Layers of black.

Oceans of silence.

Then, no more darkness.

Sound.

Light.

Life.

As Simon opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was a pain in his neck. He whimpered a little and reached up to touch the painful area. He noticed a deep gash across his arm, blood seeping out and staining his shirt sleeves.

That was the first clue.

"_What the…?" _he mumbled. Since when did he have on a purple shirt? Hadn't it been white with thin blue stripes just a few moments earlier?

"Rob?" he coughed a little, "Robin? Rob, are you…." he turned towards the driver's seat to find that Robin now had a mop of curly hair, lipstick and breasts. _"Fucking hell!"_

Panic set in. A cold dread washed over him. It couldn't be… it just _couldn't._

"_No…. no, that's got to be wrong. See, I made my peace with the eighties…." _ Simon began to jabber. He forced the door open and began to stumble onto the road outside. His head was spinning, so was the world around him. He was in a different place, a different time, a different world, and not one he wished to see again.

"_No… it can't be… I can't…"_

His eyes darted around, looking for any sign of familiarity or something solid to grab hold of, his palms sweating and his mouth as dry as the desert. That was the moment he saw them; two familiar figures, standing, watching.

That was as much as his brain could handle.

A blissful nothingness overtook Simon and he crumbled to the floor. In that moment of darkness, Simon wished that was how he would remain forever.

A pot of smelling salts had a different idea.


	3. Chapter 2: Suspicious Minds

**Chapter Two**

Simon vaguely came around to find himself in the back of a car. He could hear voices and snippets of a conversation but wasn't quite brave enough to open his eyes.

"_Guv, are you sure we shouldn't just take him to hospital?"_

"_And tell them what? We just saw a man crawl out of a car ten years after he died?"_

"_We don't have to tell them his name!"_

"_No hospitals, Bolly. Not until we know what's going on. Besides, Kite's been dying to do first aid again. Last time she had a chance was when Malcolm got his hand stuck in the toaster."_

"_Alright, fine. No hospitals."_

"…_Maybe a trip to the shoe shop, though."_

That was it. The last piece of information Simon needed to confirm whose car he was currently bleeding all over the back of. Cautiously he opened one eye and could see the profiles of two familiar people as they turned alternately to talk to one another.

"_So explain this to me, Gene," _one began, _"Simon disappeared moments after he died because he'd gone home."_

"_Yes…?"_

"_And according to you, Sam Tyler disappeared for a few seconds when he woke up, then reappeared moments later when he made the decision to come back."_

"_Is this going somewhere or did you just want to take me on a really miserable trip down memory lane?"_

"_So why has Simon come back now, ten years later? Why didn't he just reappear a few seconds after he disappeared?"_

"_Because the bloke was dead, Drake! He'd be returned to a mortuary! Want him to start knocking from inside the coffin?"_

The whole thought of such a thing sent Simon reeling back into unconsciousness, fainting for a second time.

He came around for the second time under protest as the strong scent of Gene's smelling salts dragged him back from the blackness.

"_He's coming round," _a voice observed.

"Well done that man! So your new glasses didn't go to waste after all."

Simon blinked a few times. Four faces came into view.

"Oh God, _no," _he groaned, "I'm _not_ here… I'm just not!"

"Told you they would work," said Gene, moving the smelling salts out of the way.

A familiar female pouted.

"I still think you should have let me give him the Heimlich manoeuvre," she said haughtily.

"He wasn't choking!"

"No, but I've had the chance to practice on a real person yet."

"You worry me, Kite, I'm worried you're gonna slip a rock in my tea or something to give you practice."

Simon was relieved to see the friendly face of Alex as she knelt down beside him and smiled. She'd been strangely fond of Simon and despite her confusion and a certain amount of nervousness she was happy to see him back. Her hair was much longer than it had been when he'd last seen her and filled with blonde highlights.

"Simon," she said quietly, "how are you feeling?"

"A bit sore," Simon tried to make some sense of what was going on, "a bit confused." He looked around to survey the scene and to his horror spotted a wholly made-over Malcolm who resided in a double-breasted purple jacket, velvet trousers and oversized glasses. _"Bloody hell_, since when did Jarvis Cocker work in CID?" he panicked, scrambling to his feet in shock.

"It's me!" Malcolm gave him a friendly smile and stretched out his hand, "welcome back, DI Shoebury!"

"_DCI," _corrected Alex. The others turned to see her holding up the ID she'd found in his pocket while he was out cold. She turned to Simon. "Looks like your rank's come with you this time. Congratulations."

Simon took his ID from her with a distant smile, torn between the horror of being back in a place he'd been so desperate to escape and a grudging happiness to see some of the familiar faces again.

"Thanks" he said quietly."

Susannah Kite stepped forward and began,

"Uh, I hate to be the one to bring up the obvious, but… is no one going to talk about the fact that this man _died?"_

Silence fell over the room. Simon glanced at Alex, then at Gene, as interested to hear their response as Susannah and Malcolm were. A glance was exchanged and an eternity seemed to pass before Gene cleared his throat.

"Now, what I'm about to tell you," he began, "is on a strictly need-to-know basis. And since this is so important, _I_ need to know that this will go no further." he shot them a stern look.

"Of course," said Malcolm.

"Absolutely," said Susannah.

"Well," Gene began, noting a horrified glance from Alex who truly feared he was about to blurt out the truth "The fact is that DCI Shoebury here has been… deep undercover."

Malcolm frowned.

"That's a long time to spend in bed," he observed.

Gene threw his hands in the air.

"Sometimes I think it's only your intellect that keeps CID going," he cried, "_undercover, _secret identity, highly sensitive case." He gave Simon a firm glare. "Isn't that right, Flip-Flop?"

Simon bristled. He remembered now why his time in the eighties had been hell.

"_Yes," _he said through gritted teeth, "that's right."

"Are you saying he faked his death?" frowned Malcolm.

Susannah hewed the inside of her lip.

"I'm not buying that," she said, "What about Webber? The years of guilt he felt about Simon's death? The ambulance crew who went crazy?"

"The shot was real," Gene began, "We all thought he kicked the bucket but when they found a pulse his survival was kept secret to send him undercover." He saw Susannah open her mouth to question him further and silenced her by continuing, "it's none of our business what he's been doing for the last ten years. All that matters now is that he's out from his undercover operation and working with the…" he glanced at Simon's ID, "with the drugs squad. His DI just had an accident on the way to attempt to catch Nick Nailer. Simon's a bit concussed so no difficult questions. Let him get on with his job and you get on with yours." He stood up and looked at them firmly. "Not a word of this to anyone else, either."

Susannah didn't look happy with the explanation she'd been given but didn't have any option but to agree to Hunt's request.

"No, Guv," she said.

"Good," said Gene, "Then if that's settled DCI Drake and I have some catching up to do with this young man and his O-Phone or whatever it was."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment.

"_iPhone," _he sighed.

"O-phone, iPhone, insert vowel of your choice here," said Gene, "My office - now."

With a heavy heart, Simon got shakily to his feet and limped a little as he trudged to Gene's office door. With a situation so surreal unfolding around him he barely even noticed the door spring open before his hand even touched it and he passed slowly through it into the very office where he'd first met the two people he knew were the only ones that could give him answers right now.

He sat down with a yelp as his bruised behind inflicted pain upon him and watched as Gene fished the whiskey bottle from his draw.

"You still off the hard stuff?" he asked.

Simon nodded.

"I don't drink," he reminded him.

"Thank god for that," said Gene, "I'm going to need the whole bottle to get me through the next half hour." He sat down on the desk and poured a glass of scotch for himself, then one for Alex. "Spill it, Shoe-boy. What fell on yer 'ed this time?"

Simon sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe it's time to reconsider the whole teetotal thing," he groaned, "…this could take a while."


	4. Chapter 3: Mind That Desk

**Chapter Three**

"I don't understand it," Simon breathed heavily as the gravity of the situation finally hit him, "I don't know why I'm back here."

"What happened, Simon?" Alex asked gently.

"What was it this time," Gene began, "another computer on your bonce?"

"Car accident," Simon whispered. His heart leapt into his mouth as he thought about Robin. Instinctively his hand reached into his pocket but there was no little jewellery box in there now. "I was called out on a case at the last minute, it wasn't even my department. Something went wrong and… in the chase…"

Gene scratched his head and took a sip of his whiskey.

"Two car crashes in one day then," he sighed, "lucky man, aren't you? I think I need the number of your insurance company."

Simon fingered the bottle on the desk, looking for any distraction.

"Lucky? That's not the word I'd use to describe it," he sighed, getting to his feet, "look, why am I back here?"

"Working on a drugs bust," Gene told him matter-of-factly.

"No, why am I _here?_ In the past?"

"Been transferred in," said Gene.

"_Don't_ give me that, Simon surprised himself by slamming the bottle hard onto the desk, "that didn't cut it last time when I didn't have a clue _what_ had happened. Now I _know_ about this place I want some _real_ answers."

"Don't we all, pal?"

"Simon, what do you mean by_ 'know about this place'_?" Alex asked quietly.

Simon took in a deep breath. It was hard to know where to start.

"I've been back and forth," he sighed, "here… home… now here again. Alex, I _know_ you sent me home. I woke up and I got better… I got my _life_ back." he looked at her sincerely. "I've _seen_ you… I've sat by your bedside. Alex, I know you said you were dead but…"

Alex nodded to cut him off.

"I know," she whispered, "I know."

Simon nodded slowly. There was a lot more he wanted to say to her, about Keats ad Molly and Evan, but he didn't want to do it in front of a man that could be about to ask him for a pair of size elevens at any moment. He looked from Alex to Gene and back again.

"Leave the crap out this time," he began, "I know this is some kind of strange…. _afterlife_ bullshit or halfway house. This isn't a place for the fit and healthy! Malcolm's dead, I went to his funeral. Alex… you're laying in a hospital bed! As for that maniac Keats…"

"We do not speak of that name without a fire extinguisher to hand," Gene interrupted.

"…he's been back and forth more times than a ping-pong ball in a table tennis set!" Simon shook his head as he began to pace somewhat painfully, the effects of the car-crash beginning to show themselves. "What am I doing here? Can you at least tell me that? I mean, I made my _peace _with the eighties! I really did!"

"Simon," Alex interrupted, "It's… it's not nineteen eighty five any more. idn't you listen out there?"

Simon shook his head slowly. He'd been too shocked to take in much of what was being said.

"What year is this?" he whispered.

"It's ninety five," said Gene, "nineteen ninety five."

Simon stopped stone-still.

"_Shit", _he whispered, well that explains the presence of a lookalike of Pulp's front man in CID!" He paused. "But…but I _loved_ nineteen ninety five. That was one of the best years of my _life. _I started to really…. live my life." his eyes came alive in a way Alex hadn't seen before. "Sneaking into nightclubs… cable TV…. The X files - Oh, the _X Files! _…reading all the latest news on good old fashioned Teletext, _long_ before all that red button crap…" he ceased his tirade of mid-nineties love and came to a halt with a frown. "Ten _years?" _he blinked. "Ten years have passed? But it's only been a few months!" He turned to Gene. "Why am I here? You have to tell me.. I need to know."

"You put in for a transfer," Gene said firmly.

Alex looked for one to the other.

"Gene, don't you think…." Alex began but he cut her off.

"Your transfer papers will be on my desk," Gene began, scrambling around a little to find them.

"You can't give me that rubbish this time," Simon shook his head, "whatever secret you're trying to keep I knew enough that it's not going to wash."

Gene frowned, oblivious to Simon's rant and genuinely annoyed to find the papers were missing.

"They're not here!"

"What's not, Gene?" Alex asked quietly, feeling torn between keeping the secret and spilling the details to Simon.

"His bloody papers," Gene got to his knees and checked the floor, "why aren't they on my desk?"

"Aha!" Simon cried triumphantly, "see? No papers, no transfer! Now can I go home? I have something really very important to do tonight."

"Hold your horses, sunshine," Gene banged his head on the desk as he got to his feet. _"Ow! _Bugger…"

Alex bit her lip and tried not to laugh as she helped him up.

"You OK, Guv?" she asked quietly.

"Fine, _thank you_ Drake," Gene mumbled, "someone must have lowered me bloody desk, that's all." He got to his feet. "The papers must be on _your_ desk."

"Why would they be on _my_ desk?"

"Because they're not on mine!"

"Since when are the _papers_ ever on _my_ desk?"

"Since today!"

Simon began to back towards the door.

"Erm, look, since there are no…. _papers…._ to speak of…. I think I'll just get going."

"Going where?" Gene asked.

Simon hesitated.

"Going…. _crazy_," he conceded. He let his breath out slowly and closed his eyes. "I don't know where I'm going. I just… I just want to go _home."_

Alex's heart sank as she saw Simon's spirits fading before her eyes.

"Simon, look," she began quietly, "We'll go and check my desk. Maybe we'll find something to shed some light on things." She gently but firmly pushed him toward the door. "Come on."

Simon glanced back at Gene with a scowl as he left with Alex. He and Gene hadn't exactly hit it off the first time around. Now not only was he still the subject of myriad shoe related jokes but he knew now that he deserved more answers than he was getting. The first time around he was uninitiated and confused. This time he may still be feeling bewildered but he knew now more the nature of his experience. He could see from the anxiety crossing Hunt's brow that he knew more than he was prepared to reveal to Simon, and for someone so far away from home that was the kind of knowledge he was determined to receive, one way or another.


	5. Chapter 4: Keats Tennis and The Rachel

**Chapter Four**

Simon followed Alex through CID, down a short corridor and into a pokey office with _D.C.I. Drake _emblazoned on the window.

"Cosy, isn't it," she commented.

Simon nodded. That was the polite way of putting it.

"So you're not in CID any more?" he asked.

"Technically, no," Alex pulled out a chair for Simon then set about checking her desk for papers, "I was transferred to head up a new branch of the drugs squad, tracking new substances as they emerge. I was actually supposed to be working on a different floor but then Gene _transferred _a few of the Super's personal belongings into the toilet bowl until he moved my office up here." She knocked a pot of pens off her desk and cursed. _"Damn!"_

"No sign of the papers?" Simon asked hopefully.

Alex rounded up her pens and rested her hands against her hips.

"Not yet, no," she admitted.

"Maybe I'm not really here then?" Simon asked hopefully, "maybe I'm just dreaming?" Alex clipped him round the ear. _"Ow! What was that for?"_

"Just making sure you know we're real," she said innocently.

Simon frowned and rubbed his ear.

"Nice way of proving a point," he grumbled. He watched Alex routing around in her desk. "You're not fetching a bottle of whiskey too are you?"

"I'm sure I've got something more Simon-friendly around here," Alex told him, "Aha!" She pulled out a bottle of sparkling water and handed it to him "Not exactly chilled, I know, but I thought you might be thirsty after the day you've had."

Simon took it gratefully.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He opened the bottle carefully, hearing the fizz and making sure the bubbly liquid within didn't spill onto his trousers, then took a couple of sips. He stared into the top of the bottle, hoping to find some answers within, yet all he found were bubbles dancing around in the pure, clear liquid.

Alex slipped into her chair and looked at Simon seriously. She found herself in the most awkward position, and that included anything Gene had tried to get up to in the Merc. Since Simon's departure she and Gene had seen four new faces come and go between them, and that didn't even include those who had already passed away. Their latest new recruit had joined just a few months earlier; a short-haired young lady who embraced living in the dawn of the laddette culture but struggled with issues involving a runaway sibling which she'd spent her early weeks trying to solve and had found a kind of peace with at last. Every now and then Alex caught her talking to something or someone that wasn't there, in the hope of receiving a message from home.

With every new recruit she had stood alongside Gene, stressing how real their world was and keeping the secret, while remaining supportive and encouraging. She made sure that Gene remembered, and in turn he helped her to do the same. Of the four lost souls they'd helped, two had returned home while two had gone to the pub when time was called on their journey at Fenchurch East. Their latest recruit was still hanging in the balance. But never before had they seen the return of someone who had been a part of their world before and understood that there was something about it that ran so much deeper.

A part of her burned to tell Simon, just as he burned to know the answers to his questions, but she was unsure how much she could tell him about their existence. Say too much and everything could fall apart. Say too little and she risked Simon seeking those answers for himself, just as she had done many years earlier. She stared at Simon, struggling for something profound to say. To her relief, Simon broke the silence.

"Ten years," he said quietly, "to me it's only been a few months, but to you and Hunt it's been a decade."

Alex nodded.

"More or less," she said quietly.

"And you're still… with Gene?"

A smile spread across Alex's features. She looked down, a little bashfully.

"Yes," she said, "against all the odds."

"Has he made an honest woman of you yet?" teased Simon.

Alex's smile wavered.

"That's a bit of a sore point, actually," she told him.

Simon felt a little guilty.

"I'm sorry," he began, "I didn't mean to pry."

Alex waved her hand dismissively.

"It's OK," she shook her head, "It's nothing that bad, it's just…" she sighed deeply. "Gene has been married before and things didn't exactly go that well between them. I don't see a proposal in the near future, let's put it that way."

Simon sighed.

"Alex, I'm sorry," he apologised again.

"It's not something I should even care about," Alex tried to justify her emotions, "after all, I never know how much longer I…" she trailed off, wondering if she was overstepping the line. "…How much longer I'll be working at Fenchurch East anyway." She ran her fingers through her hair. "It's just with the engagement business, its brought some… _issues_… to the surface for me."

The word 'engagement' brought some issues of its own for Simon, who reached into his empty pocket once again. He tried to ignore the fear and anxiety building inside him over getting back home to Robin and asked,

"What engagement business?"

"Malcolm and Susannah," Alex explained, "they've been on and off for ten years, and he finally asked her."

"Aw, that's sweet," Simon couldn't help smiling, "good on them." He was rather fond of Malcolm in the short time he'd spent in 1985 and remembered the sadness he felt at hearing of his death in the present day.

"Hopefully he won't be wearing the purple suit when they had to church," Alex commented.

Simon smiled.

"The fashion should have been a giveaway," he said, "I should have know this wasn't eighty five." he nodded at Alex. "I love your hair, by the way."

Alex smiled back.

"'_The Rachel'_," she explained, "I didn't have the confidence to get it done the first time around so I decided to take the plunge."

"The first time around," Simon repeated. He sighed and stared at his bottle again. "Alex, I'm starting to understand there are things you can't say. I don't know what they are or why, but I respect there are reasons behind it. I… I'll try not to ask anything that you can't answer, but maybe if I tell you what _I_ know…" he felt Alex's gaze turn to him, "…then you can work out how much more I need to know. Is… that OK?"

Alex hadn't been expecting that statement. She nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said quietly, "that's OK."

"OK." Simon took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and began. "I remember how I left here before. I don't know what Keats did but he put me in line of that bullet. I know you stopped Keats from…. _taking me._ Believe me, he came after me to let me know it."

Alex looked at him with wide eyes.

"What do you mean, _came after you?"_

"He tracked me down," Simon whispered, "in two-thousand-and-ten."

Alex turned a variety of interesting colours at that moment. She went through stages of green and purple before turning a deathly white.

"He's a_live?" _she whispered.

Simon hesitated.

"Not any more," he said quietly.

"W-what do you mean?"

"He came after us both," Simon closed his eyes for a moment, "me, because I was the one that got away, and you because…. Because you were the one who saved me. Sent me home." he paused. "He paid you a visit. At the hospital."

Alex shivered from head to toe.

"What did he do?" she whispered.

"He tried to smother you," a lump rose in Simon's throat at the memory, "just after he shot me."

"Why did he shoot _you?"_

"I don't think he intended to when he first came to find you," Simon said quietly, "he'd already tried to destroy me in other ways. He almost cost me my job and my relationship. When he arrived to kill you and found I was already there he thought he'd won the lottery." he paused. "You were the jackpot… I was just the bonus ball."

Alex hesitated. The details of Keats' activities in the present day were making her feel anxious enough but she had a question she needed to ask.

"What… what were you doing visiting me at the hospital?" she asked.

Simon looked at her sincerely.

"I wanted to see for myself that you were real," he told her.

"And I was."

Simon nodded.

"I met your daughter, Alex. I even bought her a biscuit with a smiley face on it!"

Alex felt a tear spring into the corner of her eye.

"My Molly," she whispered.

"She's OK," Simon assured her, "I know that's what you need to know. She loves you… she misses you… but she's OK."

A genuine smile of relief and gratitude washed over her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, "you're right. I did need to know that." She closed her eyes, letting those words sink in. So many years had passed since she arrived in Gene's world, but Molly was always on the edge of her thoughts. Eventually she took a deep breath and asked another question. "Simon… _Keats…_ what happened?"

"The bastard shot me," Simon whispered, "then went after you. So I shot him back."

Alex put her hand to her mouth involuntarily.

"Did he die?"

Simon nodded.

"Yes," he whispered "and I've been terrified ever since that I sent hi/m back here to come after you all over again. He _hasn't _come back, has he?"

Alex shook her head slowly.

"No, no Keats," she whispered.

Simon nodded.

"Good," he said. He took a sip of water and flinched a little at the strength of the bubbles across his tongue. "He was crazy, Alex. I'll give you his whole backstory if you want it, but the short version is that he was totally insane. Thought he was possessed by some kind of evil energy, said he 'woke up in the wrong body', got moved from post to post in the force… all the time waiting to find me and you again."

Alex shook her head slowly. Simon's tale shook her to the very core in so many ways.

"We killed him," she whispered "I mean, he died… just after you went home."

"That's when _he_ went home too," Simon said quietly.

"But we checked he didn't disappear!" Alex protested, "There was a funeral… a gravestone…"

Simon sighed.

"Then maybe he was right," he whispered, "and the body he woke up in wasn't the same one as the person he became. Maybe the body you buried… didn't match the soul."

Alex shuddered. She couldn't stand thinking about this for too much longer. It was killing her inside to remember Keats and the damage he brought.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Simon frowned.

"For what?"

"Saving me," Alex whispered.

Simon gave a genuine, warm smile.

"I guess we're even," he said.

Before Alex could reply, he door burst open and a flustered Gene appeared.

"Any sign of those papers, Bols?" he asked.

Alex had almost forgotten about the missing paperwork.

"No sign here, Guv."

Gene frowned. This was a genuine mystery as far as he was concerned. The lack of papers bothered him, but not as much as the call he'd just received.

"Well, you can get on the paper trail later," he said "Uniform called. Thought you might want to get down there."

"Why?" asked Alex.

"To see if you can identify any hallucinogenic substances," said Gene, "there's a new copper down there, just gone crazy. He's got to be popping pills. Keeps asking about a dog."

At that moment, Simon froze. His world stopped turning just for a few moments.

"What?" he whispered.

"Just started today and already turned into a fruit loop," said Gene, "his first words were something about calling a vet and getting a bullet out of a dog's guts." He scratched his head. "Sounds like he's gone _barking mad_ to me…"

Simon scrambled to his feet as Gene was still smirking over his own joke.

"_Robin," _he gasped.

"Sorry?" frowned Alex.

Simon turned to her, his eyes open as wide as the moon.

"It's Robin," he whispered, "its _got_ to be."

"Robin?"

"He's my…" Simon began, but trailed off abruptly as a memory of a tape leant to him by Jim Keats shot into his head. He flinched, remembering the fears he'd harboured during his visit in the eighties. Glancing at Gene, he continued. "He was driving the car when we crashed. It's _got_ to be him. I'm certain of it."

"Well, whoever he is, he's certainly _hounding_ a few annoyed coppers," said Gene, "so we'd better get over there and -"

"Gene, if you say you hope his bark is worse than his bite then I'm going to have to snap your latte holder," threatened Alex. She turned to Simon as she got to her feet. "Come on, it sounds like you're needed."

As Simon followed the two DCIs out of the office and tore down the corridor he felt a whole world of emotions whirling around inside of him. Could the crazy copper really be Robin? It seemed unbelievable and pretty close to impossible, but he was fast learning that the impossible had a place in this world.

"_Hang on, Robin," he whispered under his breath, "I'm on my way."_

He just hoped they would arrive before Robin made the same mistake Simon had at his first arrival and wound up with a few broken toes.


	6. Chapter 5: Reality, Reconstruction & RSI

**Chapter Five**

The despair flashing in Robin's eyes was plain enough for anyone to see. The situation he found himself in was one he couldn't explain and Robin was the kind of guy who prided himself on being able to find a rational explanation for everything. Well, with the possible exceptions of the popularity of _Two Pints of Lager _and the erratic behaviour of Simon's guinea pig.

Nothing made sense. Not even for a moment.

He recalled the anger raging inside of him, burning through his chest as he saw the beautiful dog he'd helped to train so well laying on the ground, smothered with blood. He remembered running on pure instinct and fury as he leapt into a squad car and begged Simon to come with him. He knew he was speeding along too fast and driving incredibly dangerously but he couldn't stop himself.

He did remember the fallen tree, the feeling of flying through the air as the car flipped and turned, shaking himself and Simon around inside it like it was a strange kind of pepper pot. Then there was some darkness, muffled voices and finally an old woman standing over him, asking _"Are you aright, dear?" _and offering him a cup of tea. Suddenly there was no sign of the squad car, or of Simon. In their place were a zebra crossing outside of the station and a couple of eye-witnesses talking of a hit and run incident. Out of habit he immediately began attempting to take down the details of the hit and run, until he realised that _he'd _been the victim of the incident.

Thrown into absolute confusion, he made his way into the station but found the layout of the entrance different and none of his friends on duty. In fact, he didn't even recognise anyone. He found himself increasingly anxious as he tried to find out some information on the welfare of his beloved dog only to be met with confusion and laughter. The moment someone mentioned his _'first day on the job' _was the moment that pushed him over the edge.

Terrified that he was going crazy or tat he was the butt of some cruel practical joke he began demanding some answers and trying to push his way through to the dog unit but eventually found the dog unit wasn't _there_ any more.

Finally, confused and terrified, he gave an almighty scream and burst into tears which prompted myriad police officers to gather around him, restraining him and fearing illegal substances were involved with his current state of mind.

"I've _told_ you," he cried as someone threatened to cuff him "I don't know who you are and I don't know why I'm here! I was in the old haulage yard, and then driving down the back route to the airfield when I crashed my car. I don't know how I got here. Where's Sergeant Goodman? He'll know! Where is he?"

"This is your last chance to calm down, or you will be spending your first day on duty in the cells instead of on the streets!" a tall and foreboding officer warned him.

"But this _isn't_ my first day!" Robin cried, "I've been working here for ten _years! _I've got my own parking space, a computer with dog ears taped to the monitor and my own mug with my name and a picture of Scooby Doo on it!"

"Robin Thomas, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've got your file right here. You transferred in this morning."

Despite catching sight of his name on the file, Robin refused to believe what he was hearing.

"You're crazy," he shook his head as the officers tightened their grip on him, "you've all lost the plot. This is some kind of wind up…"

The sergeant holding the file shook his head sadly.

"I think we'll have to put him in the cells until he sleeps off whatever he's on," he said, "come on, son…"

"_This officer goes nowhere near the cells until he's locking up some nonce in there," _a voice came from somewhere. Robin strained to see who had spoken but his view of the doors was being blocked by a number of officers who had gathered around to watch the freak show.

"_What the…?" _the sergeant frowned, "who are you?"

"Someone you're going to listen to unless you want to find his transfer papers up your…"

"Excuse me," a more polite voice spoke up, "someone called us about this gentleman."

"_Robin!"_ a third voice came from the back of the crowd. An anxious voice. A _familiar_ voice. Robin's heart began to race and he gasped involuntarily.

"_Simon?"_ he breathed.

From somewhere behind the sea of officers the one face he wanted to see appeared.

"Oh Robin, thank _God."_

The Sergeant looked more perplexed by the second.

"Can someone explain to me what is going on here?" he demanded.

"You are trying to lock up a concussed man!" the first formidable voice announced gruffly, "this officer needs to get to hospital, not get the opportunity of pissing in a bucket!"

A stylish female arrived to the front of the group.

"I'm DCI Drake," she introduced herself. This is DCI Hunt and DCI Shoebury. We received a call about your… new recruit and we've spoken to some witnesses outside who observed him being knocked down by a car. He is clearly concussed and needs proper medical attention."

Robin almost wept with relief at the sight of Simon finally making it through the crowd and coming to a halt before him.

"_Robin,"_ he whispered.

Robin's gaze was full of confusion, pain and distress.

"Simon," he whispered urgently, "you've got to help me, _please!_ I don't know what's happening! I'm losing my mind, Si. I'm going crazy."

"No, you're _not,"_ Simon stressed, placing his hands firmly on Robin's shoulders, "You are not crazy - and neither was I." He paused and stared intensely into Robin's eyes, trying to make him understand what he was trying not to say aloud, _"neither was I."_

As Robin looked into Simon's deep stare something began to click inside his mind. Fragments of the truth began to dawn on him. It was a truth he didn't want to contemplate; a possibility that he couldn't stand to think about. He remembered the strange tales that Simon told him of his time in the eighties during his coma and shook his head slightly to dispel the thoughts forming in his mind.

"This…. This isn't real," he whispered, "no, this _can't_ be real…"

Alex regarded the Sergeant seriously.

"This man needs hospital treatment, not arrest!" she said crossly, "let him go _right_ now so we can escort him for medical checks and he will return tomorrow with a clean bill of health."

The sergeant looked a little unsure but was willing to accept her request if it meant one less cell to check on.

"Alright," he nodded, " let him go, lads."

The officers holding Robin's arm let him go and he stumbled forward a little. Simon took one of his arms and Alex took the other, turning quickly to remove him from the situation as soon as possible.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Gene sighed as he followed them and left uniform behind.

Robin could feel his legs shaking as he tried to walk from the building. He was thankful for the arms holding him up on either side because a fateful combination of fear and car accidents hadn't really left him in a position to walk all that well.

"This is a bad dream," he whispered, "this is just a bad dream and I'm going to wake up at any minute."

"Robin," Simon turned to him, "It's real. It's _all_ real."

"No, no it's not," Robin shook his head strongly, "I had an accident and I'm having a dream or a hallucination or something. I'm going to wake up at any moment and feel like a total twat for dreaming about this."

"_Rob…"_

"This is your fault," Robin cried, "telling me those stupid stories about your coma."

"Listen, _Batman," _Gene began.

"Robin," scowled Robin.

"You need to sort yourself out and get your head together, concussion or no concussion," Gene carried on, "you need to be ready for work tomorrow whether or not you've just had a car bonnet up your backside."

Simon looked at Robin, feeling a little shocked by what he'd just said.

"What do you _mean_ this is my fault?" he demanded.

"If you hadn't told me about going back to he eighties and all the weird shit you dreamed about then -"

"Hey! I didn't dream it, and you're not dreaming it either." He grasped Robin's hand. "Feel that? Feel it, Robin? That's how real this is."

Robin could feel the hand clenched around his own as plain as anything but that didn't necessarily rule out the possibility that he was having a very realistic dream. He looked properly for the first time at the woman holding onto his other arm and recognised her features. He knew it was Alex - he recognised her from taking Simon to visit her occasionally until he had the go-ahead to drive himself again.

"I've just reconstructed her," Robin said firmly to himself, "that's all."

"Plastic surgeon now too?" asked Gene.

"Reconstructed who?" Simon frowned, feeling ever more worried about Robin's state of mind.

"_And _you," he said, "I know you better than anyone. Of _course_ you'd be here."

"I'm _here_ because we were in a massive _car accident!" _cried Simon, "We could be dead for all we know!"

"Your contribution isn't helping, Shoe-Boy," Gene told him crossly, "once we've got the caped-crusader to casualty we need to have a little chat."

Robin scowled at Gene and studied him carefully.

"I'm… I'm guessing you must be Hunt, right?"

Gene looked a little nervous as Robin appeared in danger of passing out.

"I'm not carrying another one back to CID!" he declared, "if he faints like a fairy I'm not carrying another one! Why do they _always_ faint…?"

"Oh, I don't know, Hunt," Simon began to square up to him, "maybe that's got something to do with _waking up in the past?" _he began to lose his temper. He still didn't have any answers for himself, let alone ones he could offer to Robin.

"I think we should all just _calm down_," Alex urged, "get Robin to hospital and once they've checked him over we can talk."

"No talking, Bols," Gene looked at her seriously, "Batman will be going straight back to work after they've checked his noggin for knocks."

"Work?" cried Robin, "_that's _not my job. Those are not my colleagues. I want _my_ job, my desk, my friends, my dogs. I want to be back tracking that bastard Nailer, not playing some kind of…. Time travel role-play adventure."

Alex frowned.

"_Nailer?" _

Robin ignored her.

"I don't know what's going on but I'm not hanging around to find out," he snapped, turning and beginning to walk away.

"Robin, no," cried Simon, "wait! You can't walk off like this. Where are you going?"

"Home," cried Robin, "I'm going to go home, crawl into bed, go to sleep and wake up tomorrow like nothing's ever happened.

"It doesn't work like that"! Simon cried, running after Robin as his pace increased, but his own injuries from his 1995 accident were beginning to catch up with him and a painful leg wouldn't allow him to go much faster than a limping trot, "you can't just wake up at home, Rob. You need to work out what you're here for. You need to…"

"I need to stop listening to this _crap!"_ Robin cried, "just leave me alone!"

"_Robin!"_

"Let him go," Alex said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't, Alex!" cried Simon, "look at him! He's in pieces!"

"He'll survive," Alex told him firmly, "…_you_ did."

Simon shook his head.

"Hardly," he whispered.

Gene stepped in front of Simon and regarded him seriously.

"You need to stop the talk," he said crossly, "getting lippy about something you know nothing about…"

"But I don't know 'nothing', do I?" cried Simon, "I know half the story, and no one's filling in the gaps."

"No gaps. No story," said Gene.

"Robin thinks he's _crazy!"_ Simon pointed a finger in the direction of the fast-disappearing figure, "how come we know this isn't real but the others don't? What about Malcolm? Kite? They don't know a thing, do they?"

Alex licked her lips nervously.

"Let's get back to CID," she said quietly, "we'll talk about this there."

"It's because they're already dead, isn't it?" Simon asked quietly, "that's why they don't know, right? They've already passed on."

"I'm not listing to an more of this, " Gene turned on his heels, "I feel the call of the bottle. Tea-bag or not, I suggest you join me, Shoe-boy."

"Tee_total," _Simon snapped, "and it's _Shoebury._" He scowled. "But you know that. You're just a playground bully."

"He's only teasing, Simon…" Alex tried to cool the situation.

"If I'm a playground bully then hand over yer lunch money," Gene said dismissively, marching away.

Simon wasn't having any of it.

"I don't care who or _what_ you are," he began, chasing him, "all I care about is getting me and Robin home, and I need to know how to do that."

"You _are _home."

"I already know I'm not," Simon cried, "I've been back and forth, remember? And Robin knows it too. Tell me how to help him, _please._ Tell me how to get him back home."

"If you want to help him then you have to learn that this is as close to home as you're going to get," Gene told him crossly.

"I'm _going _to find out what you're not telling me," Simon scowled, "but first I'm going to find Robin."

"You'd best leave him alone" Gene told him.

"He needs me!"

"I don't _care_ if you're back-door buddies, if he's going to survive here he'll need to face it on his own."

In that moment, Simon's blood began to boil and something inside him snapped.

"We're _what?"_ he hissed, standing right in front of Gene and staring him right in the eye. Simon may have been a little skinny and lanky but he was tall and for the first time Gene began to wonder if he'd overstepped the line. "You have something you want to say to me, Hunt?"

Gene hesitated. He glanced at Alex who looked both angry and worried. He looked back at the furious Simon standing directly in front of him, awaiting a response. Finally, he swallowed, pulled himself to his tallest height and gathered his composure.

"Yes," he began, "I do have something to say to you."

Simon held his jaw line firmly as he stared at Gene.

"Go on."

Gene took a deep breath.

"Sorry."

A shocked silence descended. For a moment Simon thought he had misheard and considered having his ears syringed, but a glance to Alex and the look of surprise on her face showed that he'd heard correctly.

"You're…. _sorry?"_

Gene nodded stiffly.

"Yeah," he said, an element of surprise in his own voice, "I'm…. sorry."

Simon waited for him to elaborate but no further explanation came so he prompted,

"Go on."

"I've given you some stick over your name and some…" he flushed and wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, "…more… _private matters," _he continued, "but that's the way I am. The way things are. You're…OK, Shoebury."

Simon just stared at him, waiting for the next shoe joke or a comment about his sexuality but nothing happened. After a few moments that felt like an eternity he cleared his throat.

"Um…" he looked from Gene to Alex and back again. Eventually he took a small step backwards and straightened his tie. "that's…. uh, apology accepted." He paused. "I think."

Alex looked from one to the other, shocked but relieved that the impromptu stand-off seemed to be over. Eventually she took a deep breath and said,

"Look, I think we'd better get back to the office. People are starting to stare."

"Fine," Simon said quietly. He hung his head a little, still worrying about Robin and the situation they were in, and began to walk slowly back in the direction of the entrance to CID.

Lagging a few steps behind him, Alex looked at Gene in surprise and awe.

"Guv," she said quietly, "I'm proud of you. You're a better man than you like us to think."

"I didn't do anything," Gene shrugged awkwardly.

"You apologised," Alex smiled, "I don't think I've ever seen you do that before! That can't have been easy to do."

"Yeah, well," Gene said gruffly, "it came easier when you know what _I _know."

Alex frowned.

"_What _do you know?" she asked.

Gene took his hand from behind his back and showed her his crossed fingers.

"I lied," he said amiably.

Alex rolled her eyes and tried to suppress a smile. That was more like the Gene she knew, but she also could see he was beginning to warm to Simon none the less.

"Whatever you say, Gene," she smiled.

Gene looked at Simon.

"DCI Shoebury," he began loudly, "while I am all for you being a good bloke and all that other mushy girly stuff, you're still making the tea."

Simon glanced back at him. He knew there was still a serious conversation to be had with Gene but for the first time he didn't feel like the playground victim any more. He nodded slowly.

"Fine," he said, "but you cam add your own sugar. Amount you have, I'll get RSI."

Gene frowned.

"What's tea got to do with protecting birds?"

Alex signed.

"No, Gene, not RSPB_… RSI_…" she paused, "Repetitive strain injury?"

Gene thought about making a rude comment about hoping to give Alex RSI in the back of the Fiat but thought better of it.

"Fine," he said, "lets just get back before Malcolm's suit causes a radiation alert and gets CID closed down for testing."


	7. Chapter 6: For to Get Out of the Rain

**Chapter Six**

Three quiet, solemn and frustrated DCIs entered CID to find themselves greeted by a slightly annoyed Susannah.

"I give up, I can't find them anywhere," she said, arms folded and brow furrowed.

"What? Malcolm's marbles?" asked Gene.

"Simon's papers," Susannah rolled her eyes, "I thought you had them in your office, Guv."

"Nope," Gene couldn't be bothered explaining any further than that.

"Well, we need them," Susannah frowned, "if DCI Shoebury is working with the drugs squad then I'll need to have them sent over."

"I think he might be staying on here for a little while," Alex interrupted, "to help us out. Over the… _Nailer_ case."

She exchanged a glance with Gene which confirmed he'd picked up on that connection earlier too.

"You could have told me," Susannah wasn't pleased, "I'm supposed to be your DI and I'm usually the last to know these things. I bet the canteen lady with the big backside and the wart on her nose knew before I did!"

Gene sighed and turned to Simon.

"Did I tell you we made her DI?" he asked. Simon shook his head and smiled, pleased for Susannah's progress. "Days like this make it difficult to remember why though…"

Simon nodded to Susannah.

"Congratulations, DI Kite," he smiled.

Susannah smiled back.

"Thank you," she said, before taking off down the corridor to chase up the paperwork some more.

As she disappeared, so Malcolm arrived from the opposite direction.

"Found it!" he said breathlessly.

Gene felt like slapping his forehead.

"Found what?" he asked.

"DCI Shoebury's paper!" Malcolm smiled, holding aloft a copy of _The Times_.

Gene saw red lights flashing before his eyes and tried to remember the lessons he learned in the anger management class the Superintendent had insisted he attend after an unfortunate cucumber incident following someone scratching Gene's Merc a year or two previously. What was it again? Oh yes - counting to ten. _One… two…_

Nope, ten was too far away.

"Are you _deliberately_ trying to book yourself a place in the Fenchurch East Prat Convention?" he cried, looming over Malcolm and causing him to drop the paper as he scampered away as fast as he could. Gene sighed and picked up the paper, thrust it into Simon's grasp and said, "Here, acquaint yourself with current affairs. My esteemed colleague and I need to have a few words."

Simon took the paper and watched Gene lead Alex into his office, then close the blinds to keep out prying eyes. He thought for a moment about complaining, insisting on going with them, but knew that whatever secret they were keeping about the world was one that he wasn't going to get out of them by storming in where he wasn't wanted. Right then the only thing on his mind was Robin and how to convince him that he wasn't just a figment of a fevered imagination. That was not a job that was going to be easy.

* * *

><p>Alex was grateful to see Gene going for the bottle in his filing cabinet.<p>

"You must have read my mind," she said quietly. Perching on the edge of his desk, she took a glass from Gene and waited while he filled it with something strong and alcoholic, then took a sip and closed her eyes for a moment. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

Gene poured one for himself and tucked the bottle away in his drawer again.

"We can't hell him, Bols."

"He knows too much to be left with half the story."

"Don't you remember what _Mister Sandals _did the last time he arrived in CID?" Gene asked, "he befriended the devil and gave me a package of white powder."

"He didn't know any better," Alex shook her head, "Keats tried to get to him through his weaknesses. He promised him a one-way ticket home and showed him a tape that make him scared out of his wits…" she paused,"…Of _you!"_

"Yes, well," Gene took a gulp of his whiskey, "I'm not that man any more."

"And neither is Simon," Alex told him. She flicked her hair out of her face. "He's strong now. He knows who is on his side. He hasn't even asked for his iPhone once." she paused. "He told me a lot of things about his life back home. He has been through so much since he woke up. Do you know Keats woke up too?"

Gene froze.

"In what way 'woke up'?"

"Woke up in an _'I'm going to kill Simon' _kind of a way," said Alex, "and me, apparently. Simon saved my life. He shot Keats dead."

Gene didn't know what to make of Alex's words. He shuddered at the thought of Keats waking up as flesh and blood, and shuddered even more at the thought of him dying again. The last thing he needed was Keats coming back for seconds.

"What do _you _want to do then, Lady B?" he asked, "if you had your way, what would you tell Shoebury?"

"I don't know," Alex sighed, I…" she paused. "You called him _Shoebury!"_

Gene scratched his head.

"Slip of the tongue, I meant Shoe-Boy."

"I knew he was growing on you," Alex smiled.

"The only Simon's growing is his hair by the looks of it," said Gene, "tell him he needs a haircut."

Alex laughed gently as she sipped her drink, then stared into the rippling liquid as she thought for a moment.

"Simon deserves to know enough to help Robin," she said.

"And that's another thing," Gene began, "since when was my station the ark?" He watched as Alex shrugged in confusion.

"You've lost me."

"They're not supposed to come in two by two!"

Alex let her breath out slowly. She didn't have an answer for that.

"This has never happened before?"

"No. Not once."

Alex hesitated.

"And with Simon's papers missing…"

"…we've got more questions than Shoe-Shop boy."

Alex looked at Gene seriously. There was one other thing she needed to ask but the words were difficult to say.

"Simon…. He… he doesn't …_know_, _does_ he?" she began, "I mean, he still thinks…"

Gene cut her off with a nod.

"And we're not to tell him," he said firmly.

Alex closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of her role in Gene's world beginning to crush her for the first time in many years.

"No," she whispered, "I agree." she paused. "But there are some things he _should_ know. He will not be fobbed off by the same old lines. He _knows_ this isn't his home. It's better that we fill in some of the gaps than leave him to guess too much."

Gene hesitated. He drank the rest of his whiskey down and chased it up with another measure. Finally, after what seemed like a decade, he nodded slowly.

"Tell him to get his size nines in here, Bolly. I'll have a word."

Alex smiled gratefully. She knew it was what Simon deserved at the very least.

"I knew there was a soft side waiting to get out," she commented.

Gene poured himself another generous measure of whiskey.

"You'll be finding out all about me soft side in the back of the Fiat tonight," he said.

He pretended not to notice the rude gesture that Alex made as she left his office in pursuit of Simon and instead sipped from his glass again. His palms were beginning to sweat and his heart was racing. It had been many years since he opened his mouth to speak of the nature of his world. He flashed back to a field, a scarecrow, some photos and - most horrifying of all - a Wham tape. He shuddered and downed the third glass.

"Nothing wrong with a little Dutch courage," he commented to himself as he saw a nervous Simon approaching. He took a deep breath and regarded him seriously. "DCI Shoebury," he began, "while I respect your decision to avoid substances of an alcoholic nature, I am going to place a glass on this desk for you. You have the option to drink it at any time during the conversation that will follow."

Simon frowned.

"Why would I want to do that?"

Gene sighed deeply.

"When you've heard what I've got to say," he began, "alcohol might suddenly seem like a very good idea."


	8. Chapter 7: Robin 101

**Chapter Seven**

As he walked along o autopilot, resembling a kind of uniformed zombie, Robin remembered a thought he'd had some time ago and cursed. Why had he even thought it? It was a lesson in being careful what you wished for.

"_I just wanted to help Simon," _he told himself_, "I just wished I could make things better for him."_

But he still wished that he had never, ever longed to have more understanding of what Simon had gone through in 1985, even for a moment.

_This_ was certainly not what he had in mind.

"It's a dream… _it's only a dream…"_

He really believed that. One hundred percent. He was sure that it was a dream and nothing more. If he could only get home, crawl into bed and close his eyes then he would wake up tomorrow back in his own world.

The flaw in his plan came as he arrived home to find it hadn't been built yet.

"_What…. the…." _he began, trailing off as he reached the protective fence around the perimeter of a building in progress. Barely one floor of the block of flats had been constructed, with only steel innards stretching up further than the bricks. Somewhere overhead, some girders signified an open space where one day he and Simon would be sitting, sharing breakfast a decade and a half on, but right then he saw only steel and air.

The sight of his non-home brought to Robin a new dilemma as his _going-to-sleep_ plan disappeared and he was left with no idea what to do next. He began to feel a little nauseous as the truth of the situation began to tap away at him, but he fought it all the same. If he didn't let himself think that it was real then it _wasn't_ real.

He took a few deep breaths and wished that he could find an answer in the _'Warning: Keep Out' _sign that his eyes were resting on, keeping unwanted intruders out of the construction site, but since the sign contained only three words he couldn't fathom any kind of truth from it.

Trembling now, he turned on his heels and walked back along the route he'd just taken. He took note of every shop and business he passed this time. Some were familiar ones that he walked past every day, while others were different. Some rang a bell from way back in the past, but Robin didn't want to go down that line of thought.

He stopped outside a place that he'd never really paid attention to before but vaguely knew existed, an internet café called _NetNerdz._

"Nothing like insulting your target demographic," Robin sighed.

At a loss for any better ideas, he entered the café, paid five pounds for an half an hour and parked himself down in front of one of the computers. If he could just check his emails maybe there would be some kind of explanation in there. It was a long-shot but he was running out of ideas.

"What the…. _Compaq?"_ he frowned. He wasn't the techie that Simon confessed to being but he still knew his way around a computer and seeing n old Compaq desktop… _with a little 12 inch monitor_… well, it was like going back in time.

He cursed himself for making the dumb comparison and shut that thought out of his head. Waking up the screen, he was about to open the browser when something bizarre caught his attention.

"Netscape?" he cried, "Version _one point zero?"_

What was this? A _period_ internet café? Maybe it was. After all, the sign on the wall boasted that the computers were _"Now Running Windows '95!"_

Robin shook his head and began to chew on his lip. He'd been working on breaking that nervous habit, but after the day he'd had so far he thought some lip-chewing could be permitted. Opening up the prehistoric browser he tried to access his emails but found that Gmail didn't exist. Neither did Hotmail. In fact, the internet was more like the size of a _fishing_ net.

"What the hell is going on?" Robin cried. The final insult came when he tried to access the station's database and found that not only did he not exist but the database looked as crude as Jim Keats' Speak & Spell. "Oh for _God's _sake," he got to his feet and threw the mouse mat across the café with extreme prejudice.

From somewhere behind him a rather large gentleman with a lot of facial hair emerged. His t-shirt baring the café's logo and large muscles showed Simon this was probably not someone he wanted to mess with.

"_Out," _the man scowled, _"now."_

Robin kicked the chair, hopped a couple of times as his toes began to throb and muttered,

"I'm _going," _before limping out of the café and skulking down the road.

Logic was flying out of the window now. There was no room left for it in Robin's mind. His home hadn't been built yet, the station he knew well was full of strangers and computers had regressed to the dark ages.

He was fast running out of excuses to make to himself.

He found himself outside a newsagent and lifted up a newspaper to scan the date.

"No," he shook his head, "this is a misprint. Got to be."

Dropping the paper he carried on walking, faster and faster as though trying to outrun the world he'd found himself in. All of those times he'd wished he could identify with Simon's experience a little more, all those times he wondered how real the world he'd been to actually was, all those times he tried to put himself in Simon's place and work out how he would have coped - now he began to wish he'd formulated a more solid plan.

He didn't know where he was walking until he got there. A loose notion of 'home' played around in his mind, and with his flat still several years from completion he had only one other place to go; the place that was home in nineteen ninety-five. The place he had never wished to return to.

He looked around in shock as he found himself at the gate. He hadn't realised where he was walking to or he would have stopped himself. His legs had been running on autopilot again and gone on a mission without letting his brain know.

His fingers came to rest over the top of the old wooden gate. He could feel the soft, crumbling form under his grasp and in that moment a million memories washed over him like a shower of glass, hurting him, cutting him, stinging him from head to toe.

He pulled his hands away from the gate as though that gesture alone could stop the memories from haunting him. When it didn't, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep calm.

"_You can't hurt me any more," _he whispered.

His eyes rose to the house before him, past the front door and upwards to the second floor of the building. In one window he could make out the silhouette of a teenager sitting on the window ledge, his head bowed in fear and sadness. In that moment, Robin forgot how to breathe. He clasped his chest momentarily and closed his eyes in an attempt to stop impromptu tears from making their escape.

He opened them again and took flight from that spot before the boy in the widow could look around and see him there, staring up. This time his legs let his brain in on the little secret of where they were going. He was fast running out of options and there was only one place left to go. He just hoped he hadn't burned his bridges there, because without the one man who might have the answers he needed to get home Robin feared spending a lifetime trapped inside his own, personal nightmare.


	9. Chapter 8: Deep Rooted Colander Issues

**Chapter Eight**

Simon glanced from Gene to the glass he's placed on the desk in front of him. He had been looking for answers from the moment he'd first found himself back in the eighties. Now he was on the verge of receiving them he began to feel very nervous indeed.

"What's made you change your mind?" he asked quietly.

Gene sighed and topped up his own glass. Why couldn't Simon have been more like Tyler, he wondered. Sam came back knowing what Gene's world was all about and never said a word. Simon hadn't stopped flapping his lips since he got back.

"DCI Alex Drake made me change my mind," he said.

Simon nodded slowly. He touched the edge of the desk and looked Gene squarely in the eye.

"So, what is it?" he asked, "I've seen enough crappy sci-fi shows to know it's not time travel." He shuddered, glad he hadn't arrived two years later for fear of having to watch _Crime Traveller_ all over again.

Gene lifted his glass.

"No," he said, "It's not time travel."

"Parallel universe?" Simon asked hopefully.

Gene shook his head.

"No, it's not a parallel universe."

Simon felt a little disappointed. As a bit of a Red Dwarf fan he'd been hoping for some kind of Ace Rimmer scenario to unfold. He took a deep breath.

"And I think we can discount a dream or hallucination, right?" he watched Gene nod slowly. "So… there's only one other explanation I thought of."

Gene took a sip of his drink.

"And what's that, Shoebury?"

Simon took a deep breath.

"It's a place for the dead and dying," he began quietly, "isn't it?"

Gene hesitated, just for a moment, savouring the last second before someone else discovered for certain the purpose behind his world. Finally he looked down at his hands as he spoke.

"We spend our lives trying to make things right," he began, "keeping the streets safe. Getting rid of the scum. It doesn't always leave us with enough time to sort out our own messes." He took another mouthful of whiskey to calm himself down. "So we get another chance."

Simon stare at Gene, awaiting some clarification.

"This doesn't look much like heaven," he said

"It's not heaven," said Gene.

"And your friend Mister Keats seemed to be a good representative for Hell."

"It's not hell either."

"It's somewhere between the two?"

Gene gave a shrug. He never thought of this world in those terms. To him, it just _'was'._

"Sometimes you've got some unfinished business," he said, "or answers you never found. Sometimes it's about what you _didn't_ have." he paused. "A life."

Simon swallowed.

"Like Malcolm." he whispered.

Gene nodded.

"He hadn't even started living," he confirmed, "he wasn't ready to die."

"So he found a life here?"

Gene nodded.

"He's done well for himself. Proven his worth. Joined CID. Met a bird." He paused. "Bought an unwise suit. But he's got a life."

Simon remembered the newspaper headline he'd read months earlier, telling of Malcolm's demise. A young officer losing his life so soon, to transcend to a new layer of reality and start again made a peaceful kind of sense to him.

"And me?" he asked, "I wasn't dead when I came back to eighty five."

"You fit in the unfinished business category," said Gene.

Simon frowned.

"You mean not getting my Atari?" he asked.

"_No!" _Gene rolled his eyes, "I was talking about what happened when the kids at your school found out where you wanted to stick _your_ joystick!"

Simon bristled.

"I'm starting to remember why befriending Keats seemed like such a good idea last time," he snapped. He paused and scratched his head, trying to put all the questions floating about in his head into words. He tried to ignore Gene's comment and began, "Alex… sent me home. Keats tried to get me first, but she saved me. Is she the only one who can do that?"

"Cheeky bugger," frowned Gene, "you're looking at the original and best, sunshine."

Simon nodded slowly.

"I kind of had a feeling," he whispered. He looked at Gene with wide eyes. "What… happens… when someone is ready to leave this place?"

"It depends," Gene was tiring of even thinking about it, "sometimes someone does a very bad thing and one of us takes a bullet."

"Like I did?"

Gene nodded.

"If you're lucky you'll get Alex or the Gene Genie here sending you on… or home."

"And if you're not?"

Gene shuddered.

"You get an infinite number of Wham songs being played at you full volume for the rest of eternity."

Simon gulped.

"Do you have to die to leave?" he asked.

With a deep breath, Gene shook his head.

"Not always. Sometimes…" he began, "…you just know."

"And then what?"

"Pub."

Simon blinked.

"Is this a word association game?" he asked, "because I'm not very good at those. I prefer sudoku."

"What the bloody hell's that? A type of washing powder?" Gene scowled, "and anyway, no, it's not!"

"What are you talking about then?"

Gene shook his head slowly.

"You'll learn soon enough," he mumbled.

Simon still didn't know what Gene was talking about but felt it was time for a new question.

"So what happens if you're still alive," he began, "and you get better?"

Gene swallowed the last of his whiskey and put his feet on the desk.

"You wake up," he said, "and disappear."

"And what about the… unfinished business?" Simon asked, "what happens if you… 'finish' it? Can that help you wake up too?"

Gene shrugged.

"It can't hurt," he said, "but it's not a first class ticket out, no."

Simon stared at the glass Gene had left in front of him. The contents were beginning to seem more and more appealing by the moment.

"Robin," he began, "how can I help _him_ get home?"

"You can't."

"But…"

"Listen, Shoe-Boy, don't you think if it worked like that I'd have helped Alex years ago? Patted her on the backside, booked her on the first flight back and bought her a magazine and a sandwich for the journey? It doesn't matter how much we want to help them." He put his legs down and leaned toward Simon, "It doesn't matter how much we love them. We just have to hope they make it, and be in the right place at the right time,"

Simon, for the first time, caught Hunt in a very different light. Suddenly the antagonistic figure he'd remembered from their first encounter seemed like a moment in the distant past as he slowly revealed a different Gene Hunt to Simon. He saw for the first time a deeper side to Gene. He saw in him emotion, darkness, hope and passion, all rolled into one conversation. He wished he'd seen a little of this Gene earlier.

"And me?" he whispered, "how can _I_ get home?"

Gene froze. He licked his lips and turned away just for a moment. There were some things Simon wasn't ready to know yet. He took a deep breath.

"Let's wait for your transfer papers to show up and see what they say, eh?"

Simon sighed with disappointment, hoping for a more positive answer, but nodded.

"Fair enough," he said, _"Gene."_

Gene raised an eyebrow.

"That's DCI Hunt to you," he said, "Sandal-man."

Despite himself, Simon smiled. He was beginning to look past the footwear jokes and see a far bigger picture. He fingered the glass on the desk and breathed deeply and slowly.

"This world," he began quietly, "Is it… here because of _you_ or are _you_ here because of _it?"_

Gene wasn't entirely sure.

"A bit of both," he said eventually, "probably."

"And… all the other people who aren't on the force," Simon's mind was working overtime, "are they… made up? People we imagine to fill up the space?"

Gene rubbed his forehead, beginning to regret his fourth whiskey in quick succession. It was at times like this that he wished he still smoked but after hearing about the upcoming smoking ban a decade or so away he decided it would give him much more satisfaction to give up and restart on the day the ban came into place, to prove a point. From that day on he'd never so much as sniffed a cigar or cigarette, so excited he was at the prospect of his unusual protest. Never let it be said that Gene Hunt did things the conventional way.

"The woman with the big arse in the canteen," he began, "there's no way I'd have imagined her up! She'd have been twenty years younger and three bra sizes bigger for a start."

"So how did she get here?"

"Maybe she had deep routed colander issues she needed to go back and explore?" Gene cried, "I don't know the answer to that."

"If she found her colander, could she go home?"

"I don't even _want_ to know the answer to that!"

Simon began chewing on his lip. He'd been around Robin too long, he decided, picking up his habits.

"There's one more thing I need to know," he began quietly.

"If you ask me another question about colanders hen I may end up turning you into one," Gene warned.

Simon ignored that remark.

"How… _real_… is this world?" he asked. In reply, Gene stretched out his arm and thumped Simon on the head. _"Ow! _Will people please stop doing that?"

"Stop asking the same bloody question then!" cried Gene, "you're turning into a parrot!" He regarded Simon seriously. "If that hurt you then imagine what it feels like every time a prozzie gets stabbed, or someone dies from tainted drugs or some hotshot with a gun sinks a few bullets into someone's flesh. It's as real as that, Shoebury. It's as real as it gets."

Simon's ear was ringing from Gene's 'example'. He lifted the glass, then thought better of it and returned it to the desk. He felt strangely calm, despite the revelations Gene had been so open and honest in sharing. In truth, he had gone over all the different possibilities in his mind since he first arrived in 1985 so very many times that being told the truth was a bit like watching your favourite TV show when you've already read the spoilers. He had one other question left to ask.

"What happened to Webber?

"Webber was a bloody decent man," Gene told him, "he became my DI, and he realised he'd solved whatever issues he needed to lay to rest. So he moved on."

Simon looked down. He never really got to know Webber very well but was glad that he'd found some peace in this world.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Now? You keep yer lip buttoned," said Gene, "you can't say a word to anyone."

"But surely they have a right to know?"

" I only told you because Alex thought we could trust you," said Gene, "don't prove her wrong."

"I just don't understand why the others can't be told the truth."

"Listen," Gene leaned threateningly close to Simon, so close that his whiskey breath almost melted the six o clock shadow gracing Simon's chin, "they will know when it's time. Just like Webber did. Just like many good men and women have. But if you tell them… you take away the life they've found before they're ready. That's what Keats tried to do once before and it almost destroyed me. Almost destroyed my world, taking everyone down to the basement with him. These people are here for a reason. You were lucky enough to have a second chance and go back to your home. Let Kite and everyone else live on knowing _this_ is their home."

Simon stared at Gene. He could see anxiety in his eyes, knowing there was an element of his world that was so utterly fragile, despite the solid foundations that it was built upon. Finally he nodded.

"OK," he said quietly, "I understand. But what am I supposed to say to Robin?"

"You tell him nothing," Gene reiterated, "you listen, you give him hope and you encourage him to live his life here."

"But he's still alive? I mean, he knows this isn't real…"

Gene almost gave Simon another clout to prove the 'real' factor, but understood what he meant.

"Yes," he said quietly, "Batman is still alive."

"What does he need to do, Hunt?"

"He needs to listen to his bloody sergeant for one thing," said Gene, "he needs to do his job. He's needed here. And he needs this world."

"And what about me?" Simon asked, "what am I here for? This time, I mean?"

Gene cleared his throat. He wasn't altogether sure.

"Until your bloody papers turn up," he began, "you're on our patch. Make yerself useful and help us tracking down Nailer."

"_Nailer," _Simon whispered, "that's got to be the connection. Robin and I…"

"I know, I know, I got the feature-length version earlier," Gene interrupted.

"If we get Nailer now… _here_… in nineteen ninety five," Simon began, "then he won't be there to chase in two thousand and ten. We won't have that accident.." he closed his eyes just for a moment, "and we'll be back home."

Gene sighed deeply.

"It doesn't work like that, pal," he said, but Simon wasn't listening.

"We'll get him," he said, "he'll be behind bars before you can say…"

"…'_Get a new suit, Malcolm'?" _suggested Gene. He looked at Simon seriously. "Tracking that doped-up prat is a serious job. We'd be glad to have yer on board."

Simon nodded slowly.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Gene sat back and waited for a moment, expecting Simon to stand up and leave. Instead, he began to look a little fidgety, like he had something more on his mind. His fingers were drumming on various objects and his tongue ran back and forth across his dry lips.

"Have you got anything else you wanted to ask?" he prompted, "anything else you want to say?"

"No," said Simon, _"…yes…." _he paused. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the glass, downed it in one and spluttered a few times as the liquid stung his throat. When he regained his composure - and the ability to speak - he got to his feet. He cleared his throat and looked Gene firmly in the eye. "Yeah… there is one other thing. DCI Hunt," he began, "I'm…. gay."

Gene hesitated, waiting for something more to come forth from Simon but that seemed to be the end of the statement. A long, uncomfortable silence followed, which eventually Gene decided to end.

"Oh bloody hell, look at _that!" _he cried.

Nervously, Simon jumped.

"What? _Where?"_

Gene pointed out into the distance then slowly reined his finger in to touch the end of his nose.

"_Look!" _he said, "the nose on my face! Can't get more obvious than that!"

Simon gave an annoyed sigh and a childish stomp before turning back to Gene.

"I just need to know if I'm going to end up like the guy on Keats' tape," he demanded.

Gene straightened his shirt a little.

"Ahh, yes, the famous _tape," _he sighed, "Alex told me all about Keats' little feature film." He looked down, appearing just a little ashamed of himself. "I'm not going to lie to you, Simon. I won't pretend that wasn't me. It was me. _Was." _he looked Simon in the eye. "I'm not the same man I was back then. I've changed. I've grown. People like Alex have shown me how. I'm not going to pretend I'll cover me car with rainbows and go to the next gay pride rally but I'm not the man you saw on that tape. Not any more."

Simon hesitated. He wanted to trust Gene but knew that this would only come with time. Eventually he nodded.

"OK," he said quietly.

"We might not bat for the same team but when it comes to tracing Nailer we're on the same side," Gene told him.

Simon nodded again.

"Good," he said.

To his surprise, Gene held out his hand.

"Looking forward to working with you on this one, son."

Simon hesitated, just for a moment, then reached out and shook hands with the man he'd initially been so scared to see again. He was surprised by the changes he'd seen in Gene. Maybe he himself could help to teach Gene a little more acceptance.

"Me too," he said.

Gene studied Simon carefully. There was something different about him. Right there and then. Gene found a new trust and respect for him.

"There's a young girl in CID," he said, "Kim. You can't miss her. Loud mouth, short hair, got a load of bits of metal through 'er face. She's been here for a few months but she's getting homesick. You might want to talk to her. I think you could help her."

"Help her?"

"To keep strong."

Simon hesitated. Then he nodded slowly.

"Right," he said, "thanks, DCI Hunt."

"No problem," said Gene. He watched Simon turn to leave. "Oh, Shoebury"

Simon turned around.

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to want the rest of CID to think I'm going soft in me old age," he began, "so I'm going to need a list of five to ten pre-approved derogatory terms you'll let me use against you without getting all pissed off at me for. OK?"

Simon rolled his eyes and left before he had time to change his mind about Gene for the second time in twenty minutes.


	10. Chapter 9: Ironically Named TV Stations

**Chapter Nine**

Simon left Gene's office with his head in a spin. The deluge of information had sent him into a complete state of confusion. He barely felt the strange energy as the door opened in front of him before his hand even made contact with the handle. There were too many things on his mind for the strange moment to even register.

His gaze travelled around the office from one side to the other, scanning the faces of all the lost souls who'd found their way to Gene's side.

His eyes settled upon a smiling Susannah, her hand stretched out in front of her with an excitable Alex studying it with glee. He was presuming that Kite was showing off her engagement ring. Well, either that or Alex had a secret finger fetish.

"_Beautiful!" _he heard Alex declare as he wandered towards them, "what a stunning setting!"

"He got those two pimps to serenade me as he slipped it on my finger," Susannah told her, "you know, just after we arrested them at The Singing Brothel? _'Sing while you shag'?_"

"Oh, right," Alex nodded, aware of their catchphrase.

"The timing of the raid was perfect!"

"Well, nothing says _'I love you' _like a pair of singing pimps," Alex said a little sarcastically.

Simon smiled as he reached them. He could see now what Gene meant about giving them a life. Susannah had received the opportunity to rise through the ranks, to fall in love, to get engaged - all things she'd never had the opportunity to do before she died. In that moment, a lot of things fell into place for Simon. Of course there was no way he was going to tell her she was dead. There was no way he was going to take this life away from her.

"I heard about you and Malcolm," he said, "congratulations."

"Thank you, Sir," smiled Susannah.

Simon's brain went into overtime. Neither in 1985 nor in 2010 had he discovered Malcolm's surname and it was beyond the point of polite questioning now. The time to ask would have been when he first came round in the office and he could have feigned memory loss. However, finally an opportunity presented itself.

"So what will you be after you get married?" he asked Susannah, "DI…?"

"Kite," said Susannah.

Simon frowned.

"Oh."

"I'm keeping my maiden name."

"Bollocks."

"Pardon, sir?" frowned Susannah.

"Bollocks… I mean, bollocks… to _tradition!" _Simon flustered, "go ahead and keep your name! Good for you!"

Susannah got to her feet and brushed a hand through her dark hair.

"While you're here," she began, "I tried to call drugs squad about your transfer. They didn't seem to have any record of you."

Simon hesitated.

"Uh…"

"That's because," Alex interrupted, "it's been decided that Simon's going to stay on in CID instead."

"Well we still need the papers," frowned Susannah, "which station did you transfer in from, Simon?"

Simon began to feel nervous and wished he was better at thinking on his feet.

"Um, it's…"

"Fenchurch West, wasn't it?" Alex interrupted.

Simon glanced at her gratefully.

"Yes, it was," he said, still a little anxious.

"Don't worry about it, Susannah, 'll chase them up." Alex told her, "Why don't you go on home early and get ready for tonight."

"What's tonight?" asked Simon.

"Our engagement party," said Susannah, "will you be there, Sir?"

For second Simon flinched. Tonight was supposed to be his _own_ engagement. Presuming Robin had accepted, of course.

"Maybe," he smiled thinly."

Susannah hurried away to take advantage of her early finish, leaving Simon and Alex alone. As Alex turned to Simon she could see from the look in his eyes that Gene had delivered the promised talk with him. There was something different in his expression now. Something he could never go back and change. She gave him a gentle smile and asked,

"Are you OK, Simon?"

Simon nodded slowly and gave a faint smile.

"I kind of knew," he whispered, "on some level."

"It will get easier," she said quietly, "the knowing."

Right now, Simon couldn't see how but he nodded anyway.

"Thank you for talking Hunt round," he said quietly, "I needed to know."

Alex nodded in agreement.

"You deserved that much," she said. She stood up, sliding off the desk where she had been perched and said, "you really should come tonight. I think it would be good for you."

Simon looked down.

"I don't know," he said quietly, "I don't much have the stomach for engagement parties right now."

Alex frowned. It seemed a very random thing to say.

"Why not?"

Simon gave a very deep sigh. His visit to the jewellers seemed like a very long time ago.

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"Simon," sighed Alex, "if you can't tell me who _can _you tell?"

Simon glanced at her. Despite a relatively small time in each other's company he felt a close bond with her that stretched over different times and realities. He took in a deep breath.

"I was asking _Robin_ to marry me tonight," he whispered.

Alex looked at him in surprise, a flicker of excitement across her face. As much as she pretended otherwise, she was a romantic at heart.

"Simon!" she smiled, "that's wonderful!"

Simon hung his head.

"No it's not," he sighed, "it was wonderful at ten o'clock this morning when I was standing in the jewellery store and practicing my script in my head. It stopped being wonderful when my future fiancé crashed the car we were in and now we're trapped fifteen years in the past, with our bodies and the ring stuck in a car wreck or a hospital years from now, with Robin declaring me a figment of his imagination!"

Alex began to feel a little deflated as she realised just what the situation was doing to Simon. This time it wasn't being separated from his partner by time that was destroying him - it was being separated by levels of acceptance.

"Simon, I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Simon stared at his hands.

"Now I'm in a time where we still couldn't get married even if we wanted to, which Robin doubtlessly won't, considering this is _'all my fault' _for telling him about my coma."

"He's scared and confused," Alex placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him sympathetically, "just like you were. Just like _I_ was. "

Simon began to feel very tired. His chest ached as he found it harder and harder to breathe, the situation weighing him down.

"This morning I had it all planned out," he said quietly, "nice meal, music, roses…" he put his head in his hands, "and then I got the call. Next thing I knew I was climbing into the passenger seat to try to stop Robin doing something stupid… didn't succeed, did I?"

Alex didn't know what to say to make him feel any better. She looked at him sympathetically and wished she could offer him more than a friendly smile and hollow reassurances. She looked at him seriously.

"Sometimes things down work out quite the way we planned them," she began, "but that doesn't mean they don't work out in the end." She looked at Simon's sad expression, "I hope you do come tonight. It might be just what you need."

Simon nodded slowly.

"Maybe," he said quietly.

Alex gave him one last smile before setting off to find Gene and discuss with him the idea of buying Malcolm a replacement suit as an engagement present, leaving Simon alone with him thoughts.

Before he had a chance to workout where to go from here, a TV set in the corner of CID spluttered into life. As static gave way to picture, the garish pink exclamation mark in the corner and amateurish presentation caught Simon's attention. It was an all-too familiar sight from his teenage years. On screen was a newsreader, delivering the day's headlines while behind her stood a man in an oversized rabbit costume, waving at the camera and occasionally making exaggerated hand gestures to replace facial expressions in response to the stories the newsreader was telling.

"_Oh my God," _Simon breathed, slowly walking towards the screen, _"L!ve TV…"_

He recalled watching the station for hours when he was supposed to be studying. He often cited this as his reason for success in his A-Levels, endless hours of bad TV.

As he approached the screen, the newsreader's voice came through more clearly and her words struck Simon's ears.

"…_And finally, ambulance crews are on the scene of a car accident thought to involve two police officers, in connection with a raid on a known drug baron."_

Simon froze. Those were words he hadn't been expecting to hear. He watched as the rabbit cupped its face in its paws, signifying mock surprise as the newsreader continued.

"_One man has been pulled alive from the wreckage, bu-" _she began but a bolt of static cut her off.

"_Hey!" _Simon cried, slapping the sides of the TV in an attempt to bring her back but the static only grew stronger. "Come _on…" _he whacked the TV on top of the set and mumbled, _"bloody analogue cable" _before watching as the static cleared and found the news had finished and _Topless Darts _was starting in its place_. "Shit!"_

He stared at the screen, wishing and praying that the newsreader would return, with or without News Bunny, to give him some further information but all he could see were a lot of body parts on display that he had no interest in.

Shaken, he backed away from the TV and thought about going back into Gene's office to ask for a second measure of scotch. In all the events of the last few hours he'd almost lost sight of the situation he found himself in.

The news report brought it very closely home to him once again.

* * * 0 * * *

_*** Just in the very, very slim chance that there is another big L!ve TV fan reading this, News Bunny is an anachronism; I know he didn**__**'t appear until 1996 but I just loved the vision of News Bunny cupping his face in horror at the news of Simon's crash and he was such an iconic part of the channel I had to put him in!**_


	11. Chapter 10: Bad Place to get a Splinter

_**A big thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so far - I am really grateful to hear your thoughts and so glad you are enjoying it as much as I**__**'m enjoying writing it! However, I think maybe I have spent too much time working on this one because last night I actually had a nightmare about Malcolm in his horrible suit and Jarvis Cocker glasses asking me if I approved of his 90s outfit! Argh!**_

**~*~ X ~*~**

**Chapter Ten**

Simon found himself alone in CID except for Gene tucked away in his office, making a few phone calls to discuss the possibility of getting someone sectioned over their choice of velvet trousers and being brought up to speed on the aftermath of the car chase that lost Nailer.

The combination of his talk with Gene and the flash of news from back in his own time but over _L!ve TV _had left him feeling unsettled, anxious and completely overwhelmed. It was a big secret to keep and he began to understand why Gene always had a bottle of something strong to hand.

For the first time he began to take in some of the changes in the building; partitions giving more privacy to some of the inhabitants, whiteboards invading every available space and a ceiling that didn't induce migraines as soon as the lights went on. It was still a far cry from the layout he was used to but starting to head in the right direction.

"Time really does move on," he whispered. His footsteps echoed as he walked up and down the room, his mind going over the day. It was getting late now and aside from Gene he was the only one not getting ready for Malcolm and Susannah's engagement party. He was glad of a little peace and quiet. The space helped him sort through the thoughts and discoveries floating inside his head.

He was on the verge of finding Gene to ask where the party was when he heard some distant footsteps. They made him jump, coming unexpectedly from the long stretch of silence, and he spun around. His heart gave a giant leap from the unexpected sound and he waited for someone to arrive but they faded out and disappeared down another corridor instead.

With a sigh he turned around and sat down on the edge of a desk.

"Got to stop being so damn _jumpy_," he admonished himself.

Before he had a chance to put his words into action, a scared voice came from the doorway, making him jump out of his skin with a high-pitched yelp.

"Simon?" it said

Simon spun around. The face he saw a the opposite end of the office felt like a mirage. He didn't think he could possibly be seeing what his eyes were focusing on. After what happened just a few hours ago he wasn't sure he would ever see him again.

"Robin?" he cried, "Oh, thank _god_, I've been so worried about you… where the hell have you been?"

Robin looked in no fit state to answer Simon's query. He trembled as he moved slowly into the room, his expression grim and scared, his eyes sunken and sad. His uniform was hanging off him as though the wrong size and his feet ached from the long walks he'd taken.

"I didn't know where else to go," he whispered, his voice wavering, "I went to the flat and the flat wasn't there any more… or, at least, it wasn't there _yet… _not been built_…_ so then I went to a cyber café, and the computers, Si… they were so old, if you saw them you'd think they were straight out a museum! So I tried to check my emails…" he continued as Simon walked towards him, "but they didn't exist either! So then I ended up… walking to my parents'…"

Simon's eyes filled with horror.

"Oh Robin, no," he whispered, "not there of all places. Why did you go there?"

"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go!" Robin protested, "so then I just walked and walked, and tried to work out where I was…" he paused. "I came to find you, but your office isn't here!"

Simon closed his eyes briefly.

"I know," he whispered.

"I went there but it was all different! And then I saw you in here… or whatever version of you this is."

Simon stood before Robin, trying to make him see. He didn't know how to make it any clearer.

"It's _me, _Robin. It's just me."

"And I keep thinking this isn't real," Robin continued, "but I don't remember enough to have dreamed all this up. I don't remember this much about ninety five… Si, if there's one year I _don't _remember…."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, desperately wishing he could take this moment away from Robin. He softly laid his hands either side of Robin, gently touching his arms, then looked him in the eye.

"You need to calm down and listen," he began, "this is me. I'm not a dream or a figment of your imagination. I'm here, and I'm going to help you get through this." For moment he almost said something he shouldn't but managed to rein himself in just in time. He hesitated before speaking again, wishing that he could tell Robin the truth, but understood very clearly why it had to go unspoken. Finally, he drew on his own experience of arriving back in 1985 to work out what he could say or do to help Robin. "The first thing you need to do is find out where your home is."

"But I don't have a home!" Robin cried, "I told you…"

Simon shook his head.

"A home _here," _he corrected, "try your wallet."

"Not big enough," Robin mumbled.

Simon rolled his eyes.

"For _ID," _he sighed.

Robin scrambled in his pockets and pulled out a scruffy leather wallet. He opened it cautiously and found a piece of paper he hadn't noticed when he paid for his half an hour of snail-slow internet time. Unravelling it, he handed it to Simon.

"I don't even know where this is," he said weakly.

Simon took the paper and flinched as soon as he saw the words.

"Shit… they've given you…" he trailed off.

"What?" Robin asked nervously, "who's given me what?"

Simon felt a lump appearing in his throat.

"The… the station has, uh, set you up with a flat," he said quietly, "it's the same place I lived when I came to nineteen eighty five." he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I thought… I just assumed…"

"What?"

Simon looked back at Robin.

"Sorry, Rob," he said quietly, "that's just thrown me. I just thought the flat had gone to… to someone else working in CID." He hadn't met the young lady Gene had asked him to help yet but had just thought she would be living there now. Seeing the address emerge from Robin's wallet had surprised him beyond words.

"What about you?" Robin asked, "where… where do you live?"

"Uh…" Simon frowned, "good question." he rooted through his pockets for a moment and turned up a handkerchief, a paperclip, an X-Files trading card and his ID from earlier but no sign of a wallet or an address.

"No fixed abode," he said sadly. With no papers and no home, Simon was beginning to feel like persona non grata.

Robin stared at Simon. Here he was, the man he knew so well, but something was different. He couldn't place what it was. It was something in his eyes.

"Help me, Si," he pleaded quietly.

Simon leaned forward and gently planted a kiss on Robin's forehead. He closed his eyes and just for a moment could believe they were back home, in 2010, sitting at their kitchen table or settling down in front of a DVD, just going about their daily routine. Opening his eyes, 1995 still loomed large and made his heart feel ten times heavier.

"I'll help you, Rob," he promised, "but you have to trust me. You need to listen to me. Can you do that?" he watched Robin nod his head slowly. "First of all, you need to take every day in this place seriously. Go to work, follow your orders and do your job.."

"If I do that, will I get home?"

Simon wished he knew for certain.

"All I know," he whispered, "is that you're here for a reason. Until you find out what that reason is, you just have to live your life and do whatever you can to believe this world is your home."

Robin nodded slowly.

"I… I can do that," he said, "if that's what I really have to do, I can do it."

"Good." Simon took Robin's hand. "You can begin by coming with me tonight. To a friend's party."

Robin gave a gentle laugh.

"Ben here five minutes and you've already made friends," he said quietly.

Simon sighed deeply.

"Not exactly," he said.

Robin stared at him, awaiting more discussion but nothing came.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I knew them before," Simon told him.

"From… the eighties? Robin watched Simon nod slowly. "and they've been here all that time? For ten _years?"_

Simon began to burn with the secret he now knew. He longed to tell Robin the truth, to reassure him he could find his way home much faster. Being unable to share it with the person that meant most to him in the world was torture. Eventually he looked him squarely in the eye.

"I got home within days," he said, "remember that. I was desperate to get home. You can do the same."

"Why didn't they want to go home?" Robin asked quietly.

Simon swallowed.

"This _is_ their home," he whispered, "they're not like us, Robin. They belong here… we don't."

Robin stared at him, his eyes glistening with tears that he wouldn't allow to form.

"Will I ever get home?" he whispered.

Simon couldn't say for certain one way of the other but saw a determination in Robin that reminded him of his own journey to the eighties.

"If there's a way," he said firmly, "you'll do it, I know you'll do it." He watched Robin nodding slowly. Simon desperately wished to change the subject, unsure how much more he was allowed to say and scared of crossing a line. He sighed. "Please come to the party tonight, Robin," he said, "Just… grasp every moment while you're here, then when you get home love every moment twice as much, knowing how fragile and precious life is."

Robin stared at him for a few seconds as he thought things over, then nervously he nodded.

"OK. I'll come." he said quietly.

Simon smiled.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Robin hesitated, then looked at Simon seriously.

"I've just got one more question, Si," he said.

Simon looked at him expectantly.

"Go on," he whispered.

"This world," Robin began.

"Yes?"

"…exactly how real _is_ it?"

Simon flinched for a moment. He remembered asking the same question and receiving two prime examples of how real it was. Now he was on the other side of it, he wasn't sure what to say and understood more why he'd been left with ringing ears.

"It's real."

"But _how_ real?"

"Real enough."

"But can I, like… _eat things?"_

"Yes, Robin, you can eat things."

"Can I sleep?"

"Yes, you can sleep."

"Can I get on a bus and go somewhere?"

Simon rolled.

"Christ! Yes, Rob, you can get on a bus, _or_ a train, or get in a taxi or learn to fly a helicopter or paddle in the shallow end of the swimming pool!"

"Can you get hurt?"

Simon hesitated. For a moment he contemplated… he thought about… No, he just couldn't do it. Not to Robin. Not even to prove the point. He tried to ignore the final question but Robin was insistent.

"Simon? Can you get hurt?"

"Yes, yes you can get hurt!"

"Can you die? Do you bleed? Can you get a splinter in your bottom if you sit on a wooden bench?"

"Yes! I told you, yes!"

"It's just hard to believe when I've not experienced it!" protested Robin.

Simon rolled his eyes. There was a way to fix that. He might not have been able to give Robin an example himself, but he knew a man who could.

"_Hunt!"_


	12. Chapter 11: Bring On the Music Nostalgia

Chapter Eleven

"I still can't believe you asked him to do that!" Robin grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.

"It proved the point, didn't it?" Simon asked, a little sheepishly.

"Yeah, _lovely_ example," mumbled Robin.

The two of them had been walking for about two hours. They been everywhere and nowhere; talking about everything and nothing. For the first time Simon began to realise the extent of his relief at being with Robin. The last time he'd entered this world he had been alone. This time Robin was right there with him - and he had the opportunity to help and comfort him through his _own _experience too.

With Simon having no home and Robin not ready to face seeing 'his' flat yet they decided just to walk for the longest time until they grew tired and set off for Malcolm and Susannah's party.

They arrived at a club just two doors down from Gene's favourite coffee shop. Simon confessed to spluttering with laugher when he heard about Gene's current latte obsession, a move which earned him three shoe-related insults from the Guv in quick succession.

"This is it then," he said quietly as he led Robin past the bouncer on the door and into a room that looked like the illegitimate spawn of a nightclub and a tasteless karaoke bar.

"I'm nervous," Robin admitted.

Simon squeezed his hand.

"Don't be," he said.

"I'm not great at meeting new people," Robin reminded him

"You've met two of them already," Simon reminded him.

"Yeah, and one of them clouted me around the head!"

Simon led him towards the CID gathering and began to point a few people out.

"Susannah is the one dancing on the table," he began, "Malcolm is under it… and Alex and DCI Hunt appear to be singing _Gangsta's Paradise_ on karaoke." he sighed. "Not drinking has never looked so good."

As he led Robin towards the crowd he began to feel a little nervous. Exactly how accepting _was_ nineteen ninety-five in the force? Should he be exposing himself and Robin openly to the rest of Gene's world? Wasn't Robin already going through enough?

He remembered ninety five the first time around; a powerful year in his own life, but a positive one. Instead of running scared from his sexuality he embraced it, and he finally stopped hiding away from the world. It wasn't time to start hiding again now, he decided.

Approaching a table, he arrived just in time to see Susannah topple off of it and crawl underneath it to find her sloshed fiancé.

"Susannah," Simon began loudly, battling against the music to be heard, "Malcolm!" He knelt down and caught the two drunken lovebirds in what could only have been described - _nineties style _- as a full-on snog. He rolled his eyes and tried a little louder. _"Oi! Jarvis Cocker!"_

This time Malcolm looked up and saw Simon peering at him.

"Oh, hi Sir," he said a little nervously.

"Simon!" a merry Susannah giggled, scuttling out from under the table and bumping her head on the way, "I'm glad you made it _-Oof!"_

Simon flinched.

"Are you OK?" he asked, "that looked nasty."

Susannah rubbed her head and swayed a little.

"It's OK," she hiccupped, "I know first aid."

Malcolm followed her out from beneath the table.

"I didn't know you were coming tonight, Sir!" he said cheerfully, his glasses steamed up from his under-the-table encounter.

"Thought I'd drop by to wish you both all the best," Simon told them.

Susannah looked at Robin who was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind the breadsticks.

"Who's your friend?" she asked Simon.

Simon took a deep breath.

"This is Robin," he began, "he's my partner."

"Hello," Robin said nervously.

"Oh, you work together in the drugs squad?" asked Malcolm.

"Uh, I don't think he means that kind of partner," Susannah elbowed him.

"What? _Ohhh_…." Malcolm cottoned on a little late, but before he could feel too stupid he noticed that Gene and Alex's duet was coming to an end. "Hey, I'm next on the karaoke!" and he was up and away before you could say _'earplugs'._

Simon and Robin watched as Gene and Alex began to walk towards them.

"Excellent rapping, Sir!" Susannah beamed.

"Get out me backside, Kite," Gene grumbled, "you'll be getting a bollocking if you're late tomorrow, no matter how much you suck up tonight."

"He's just grumpy because he wanted to do the _Macarena," _Alex informed Susannah.

Susannah rubbed her head where a bump was starting to form.

"You OK, Kite?" asked Gene.

"Slight… _table_… incident," said Susannah.

"But it's OK," Simon piped up, "she knows first aid."

Susannah rubbed her head again.

"I'm going to go eat a tourniquet or something," she mumbled and set off to try to deal with the growing lump.

Gene glanced at Robin.

"And how's _your_ head, Batman?"

Robin frowned but Simon cut him off before he could even begin.

"I was thinking, maybe we should all start again," he began, "Robin was concussed and confused earlier. But he would like to get to know you both properly. Isn't that right, Robin?"

Robin wasn't happy about having words put into his mouth but knew from the things Simon had said that Alex and Gene were two people you needed on your side in this world.

"Yes," he said tightly, "I'm… _sorry_ I was a bit confused and wound up earlier. It's… _nice to meet you."_

Gene looked at him cautiously.

"We all have our off days," he said tightly.

Alex reached forward to shake his hand.

"Don't mind him," she said, "it's good to meet you properly, Robin. Any friend of Simon's…"

"…_gets the next round in," _Gene interrupted, "and mine's a scotch. Double. Bolly, what are you having?"

"Gene, don't be so mean," Alex scolded, but Robin have a half-harted sigh and said,

"No, it's OK. I might as well. I apparently have a wallet, might as well make use of it."

"Are you sure?"

Robin nodded.

"Sure."

"Well… in that case I'll have a red wine, please," said Alex.

"And Shoebury's on Lemonade-Watch, I presume?" said Gene.

Simon rolled his eyes.

"Actually I think I'll go _crazy_" he wiggled his hands in a sarcastic motion, "and have an orange juice."

Robin looked a little doubtfully at Gene, still not sure what to make of him. but knew it was important to make a good impression - especially after his behaviour that morning.

"Fine," he said quietly, turning and heading to the bar.

Simon Gene and Alex turned to see Malcolm taking the stage and doing his best to belt out a drunken version of _Scatman._

"_I'm the Scatman...repeat after me… It's a scoobie oobie doobie scoobie doobie melody…."_

Gene nodded towards the Karaoke list.

"So what's it gonna be, Simon," he asked, "_Blue Suede Shoes_ or _These Boots Are Made for Walking?"_

Simon raised an eyebrow.

"It's more likely to be _Can I Kick It?_ the way you're going," he commented.

Gene raised an eyebrow in return. It wasn't often someone gave as good as they got and he was starting to feel just a smidgen of respect to Simon.

"Well," he said, "just for that I'm going to go and ask the caped-crusader to make it a triple."

Alex couldn't help smiling at Simon as Gene walked away to pester Robin at the bar.

"I'm seeing a different Simon today," she commented.

Simon gave her a little smile.

"It's funny," he said, "I know I should be more… anxious. More scared. I mean, I'm back _here_, aren't I? I need to work out how to get home and deal with just coming back… but I feel calm. At peace."

Alex gave a thin smile. It was one of the ironies of this world that Simon seemed more alive right then than she'd seen him before.

"Robin seems calmer," she commented.

Simon nodded.

"I think he's doing OK," he said quietly, "considering." His eyes scanned the busy bar and noticed a young lady sitting on her own, nursing something that looked like a coke with a measure of something alcoholic within its dark liquid. Her hair was short, blonde and scruffy and she had at least one piercing though her eyebrow. "Uh, Alex… is that Kim?"

Alex nodded.

"Do you know her?"

Simon shook his head.

"No," he said, "but Hunt said I should talk to her."

Alex gave a gentle nod.

"Be careful what you say," she told him.

"Of course I will," Simon promised. He walked slowly towards the solitary figure and looked at her curiously. She may have been sitting there in '95 but her mind seemed miles away. "Uh, hello?" h began as she glanced up, "Kim?"

"Who's asking?" she asked nervously.

Simon pulled out a chair and slipped down beside her.

"My name's Simon. I'm… working in CID, just for a while."

Kim gave a tired smile and stretched out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

Simon smiled back.

"How long have you been with us?" he asked.

Kim sighed.

"About five months now," she said, "hopefully not for much longer though. Just want to get home now."

Simon nodded slowly.

"Hunt said you were feeling a bit homesick," he said. When she didn't answer, he tried again. "Hard being away from home, isn't it?"

Kim played with the straw in her glass and licked her lips, showing for the first time that her eyebrow wasn't the only piercing she had.

"I kind of liked it at first," she said, "It was different here… to where I was used to. I got to really do some stuff. It wasn't all red tape and paperwork. Loved the nightlife too." she smiled distantly. "I was too young to be…" she froze, scared of saying something she'd been trying not to say since she arrived in this world.

Simon looked at her expectantly.

"Too young… for what?"

Kim looked down.

"Doesn't matter."

"No, go on." Simon knew he couldn't say too much, but also knew that Kim was desperate to let out some of her frustration and confusion.

Kim was tired of being the freak in the office; the one the others regarded with amusement every time she came out with something that hadn't happened yet or randomly heard voices from the toaster. They were all nice enough but she couldn't really relate to anyone. She didn't have any real friends to speak of and had been through an awful lot in a very short space of time. She didn't want to alienate another member of the department as soon as she'd met him.

"Let's just say I like the culture right now," she said, "I hate the ladette label but I like being able to go out and let my hair down."

"What there is of it," Simon joked.

Kim raised a smile and ran a hand through her blonde crop.

"That was another thing I liked at first," she said quietly, "I was in a new place, I could do all the things I didn't have the guts to try at home. Like getting my hair cut. Getting things pierced. Thought the Guv was going to go crazy when I turned up with my eyebrow done. Said he was going to strain tea with my face." she gave a deep sigh. "but when the novelty of being away from home wore off…" she looked thoroughly forlorn, "I just… felt so _lost." _She gave a deep sigh. "I still do."

Simon could identify in a way with what she was going through, although he had spent a relatively short time in Gene's world before. He couldn't imagine being separated from his friends and family for months… _years_ even.

"If you're a ladette," he began, "then why aren't you drinking a pint? That's what ladettes did, wasn't it? Got their hair cut like Zoe ball and drank beer?"

Kim gave a genuine laugh and stared at her glass.

"Like I said," she began, "I liked it at first. But after the ninety-third hangover on the trot, it tends to lose its appeal slightly. She paused and frowned. Something clicked in her mind. _"Did?"_

Simon frowned.

"Did what?"

"You said 'did," Kim frowned, "that's what ladettes _did._ That's what you said."

_Oh shit_, thought Simon.

"Well… the ladette thing's nearly over, isn't it?" he bluffed.

"No it isn't," Kim cried, "it's got years to run yet! The Spice Girls haven't even been invented yet!"

"Well…" Simon struggled to think of an excuse. _Shit, shit, shit… _"I'm not really up with popular culture."

"Why didn't you ask me why I don't go home for a visit?" Kim asked.

Simon began to panic inside. _I'm not cut out for this secret stuff,_ he cursed himself, _I thought I was doing so well… I got away with it with Robin earlier…"_

"Uh, well…"

"Everyone asks me that," Kim continued, "when I say I'm feeling homesick."

Simon looked around behind him, trying to find a distraction. He watched Malcolm stepping off the stage to a smattering of sarcastic applause after his interpretation of _Scatman_ and saw Susannah, with a crudely applied bandage around her head, stepping up to sing _One of Us._

"Not everyone's on good terms with their family," he bluffed, "I didn't know why you… left home in the first place. You might not have wanted to go back."

"No, _everyone_ asks me why I don't visit or call or write," Kim shook her head, "it's just human nature. You don't think about things like that."

"Well…" Simon's brain struggled for more excuses as he caught Susannah warbling the opening lines.

"_If God had a name, what would it be_

_And would you call it to his face_

_If you were faced with him in all his glory_

_What would you ask if you had just one question…"_

Kim looked at him seriously.

"You know I can't go home, don't you?" she whispered, barely heard above the music.

Simon pretended not to have heard.

"Maybe you'll start feeling more at home here soon," he said.

"You know _why_ I can't go home," Kim continued, "Don't you?"

Simon swallowed.

"No," he lied hopefully.

"Do you know something?" Kim asked urgently, "Do you know something about my sister? Or the man who stabbed me? Or how to get home?"

Simon looked more nervous by the moment.

"No," he began, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not like the others," Kim leaned forward, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes, "you know something. Do you know why I'm here? What I have to do to get home?"

"Uh..." Simon wished he'd kept his mouth firmly shut. He glanced around. Where was Gene when you needed him? At the bar, getting Robin to purchase a rapidly increasing variety of snacks and drinks by the looks of it. He bit his lip as Susannah's drunken rendition continued.

"_What if God was one of us_

_Just a slob like one of us_

_Just a stranger on the bus_

_Trying to make his way home…"_

"Please, whoever you are," Kim begged, "help me. You're the first glimpse of hope I've had since I arrived."

Simon shook his head.

"I'm sorry, you're mistaken," he said, "I was just trying to be friendly!"

"I can see it in your eyes," Kim urged, "what do you know?"

Simon felt so terribly out of his depth. He began to wish he'd never wanted to know the secret behind Gene's world. It was too much for him to cope with. How had Gene and Alex managed all these years? How had they coped? His eyes settled upon Gene as the music flowed around his ears.

"_If God had a face what would it look like_

_And would you want to see_

_If seeing meant that you would have to believe…"_

"Kim, I'm sorry," Simon got to his feet, "I was just trying to be friendly. I'm sorry if you misunderstood. I'm sorry you're homesick and I hope you get to see all your friends and family soon."

Kim looked aghast as Simon began to take a step away and scrambled to her feet.

"Wait!" she cried, "I'm sorry…. I'm sorry if I freaked you out, I just… just thought…"

Simon's heart began to sink as he watched her face fall. The first piece of hope she'd had in goodness knows how long and he had taken it away from her, just like that. He didn't envy Gene and Alex in their role at all, that was for certain.

"I'm sorry," he shrugged gently, "I wish I could help you. But you ever want someone to talk to… any time you're missing home…"

Kin looked down.

"Yeah," she said tightly, "great."

Simon felt truly awful now.

"I'm _really _sorry…" he tried again.

Kim shook her head.

"Now I feel like a total idiot," she muttered.

Simon wished he'd kept his trap shut and stayed well away. Not that it was _all _his fault… Gene had been the one who asked him to talk to Kim in the first place! Although that probably meant he'd let Gene down too and would be in for a roasting.

"_Great,_" Simon thought to himself, "_How can tonight get any worse?"_

His thoughts tempted fate as the unthinkable happened.

Susannah's drunken warbling came to an end and a moment later another song struck up. The opening bars caused something of a physical response in Simon, like his body remembered their meaning before his mind did, and a cold sense of dread washed over him. It wasn't until the introduction came to an end and the shadow-hidden man who had chosen the track began singing the first line that he realised the name - and significance - of the song.

"_And she pours herself another cup of coffee_

_As she contemplates the stain across the wall_

_and it's in between the cleaning and the washing_

_That's when looking back's_

_The hardest part of all…"_

"Oh no," Simon breathed, "not this…"

Kim could see panic flashing in his eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Mike and the Mechanics!" Simon cried.

Kim pulled a face.

"Ugh, they are a bit crap, aren't they?"

"No! I mean… _yeah…_ but that's not…" he trailed off, looking around for Robin, "God, where _is _he?"

"Where's who?"

"Robin!"

"Who?"

Simon barely heard.

"He's gone!"

"What are you talking about?"

Simon's expression was one of sheer panic.

"It's a trigger," he breathed.

"What?"

"This song," Simon cried, "It's a trigger.."

"A trigger?" frowned Kim, "for what?"

Simon didn't have time to explain.

"I have to find Robin," he cried and blundered away. His eyes scanned the bar but there was no sign of his boyfriend. "Robin!" he cried. He zeroed in on Alex and Gene who were sitting at a table, deep in conversation. "Hunt, where's Robin?"

"Probably gone to fill up 'is wallet," said Gene, "after he very kindly treated the whole of CID to a round."

"This is serious," Simon cried, "where did you leave him? Where did he go?"

"I don't know, I'm not his bloody mother!"

"That's part of the problem," Simon mumbled, his eyes darting around again.

"Simon, what's wrong," Alex asked, aware that Simon's whole demeanour had changed.

Simon looked around again before allowing his eyes to settle back on Alex.

"Uh…" he began as the music continued.

"…_Where are your friends_

_Where are your children_

_Is this your house_

_Is this your home_

_Does nothing ever last forever_

_Does everybody sleep alone?…"_

"Spit it out or move on so I can speak in private with DCI Drake about the benefits of the backseat," said Gene.

Simon took a deep breath and spoke to Alex.

"Can I talk to you?"

Alex went on full alert.

"Of course."

"Outside?"

The tiny hairs on the back of her arms stood on end and her blood ran cold. She glanced at Gene, then back to Simon.

"Sure," she said.

Gene looked at her in horror as she stood up and began to follow Simon out of the club.

"Great, thanks a lot, some night this is going to be now!" he cried, surveying the company he had left, "I'll go and ask if they've got _All By Myself_ shall I?"

~xXx~

Alex felt a little guilty leaving Gene in the club but there was a look of fear on Simon's face that she couldn't ignore. They passed the moody bouncer and turned around the corner until they were out of the direct line of the loud music.

"What's this about?" she asked.

"The song," Simon began, "I didn't expect to hear that… why would they even _have_ it? It did crap in the charts!"

"What's this got to do with Robin?" she asked.

"I'm really worried about him," Simon told her, "that song is a trigger for Robin."

"A trigger?" Alex repeated, "in what way, a trigger?"

"It brings back something bad," Simon told her.

"What, Simon?"

Simon glanced around, chewing ferociously on his lip.

"As soon as I heard it come on, I knew it would send him over the edge. It was bad enough for him being back here…"

"Why? What happened, Simon?"

Simon looked around, torn between telling Alex and knowing it was not his story to share. Finally, he looked her in the eye and took a deep breath.

"I think I know why Robin's come back to ninety five," he said anxiously.

By now, Alex was buying into his fear.

"Why?" she whispered, "what happened?" She paused and saw him hesitate. "Come _on_, Simon, do you want my help or not?"

Simon closed his eyes momentarily and wished the world would disappear around him. When it didn't, he took a deep breath and made the decision to share Robin's secret. For all he knew, it might be the only way to save his life.


	13. Chapter 12: Haine Du Pont Neuf

**Chapter Twelve**

"I was seventeen in ninety five, so Robin would have been fifteen," Simon watched his breath in the cool night air, the goosebumps on his arms masquerading as a sign of the cold when their real cause had been something far different, "to this day there are parts I don't know. We met at university, long after all of this happened, and he'd blocked a lot of it out by then."

Alex looked at Simon anxiously. Over the last twenty four hours things had become a lot more complicated for all of them.

"What happened to him?" she asked quietly.

"His father… was a drinker," Simon continued, "and when he'd been on the bottle he wasn't a very nice person to be around. Robin and his mum… it was never physical or violent but…"

Alex's heart began to sink. She wished she didn't have to listen to the rest of the story because she knew it would only get worse.

"Was there verbal abuse in the home?" she asked.

"Verbal, mental, emotional…" Simon sighed and leaned against the wall, "Rob's mum got the worst of it, but Robin wasn't immune. Then one night his father came home, about ninety-percent proof… he caught Robin watching the X Files after he was supposed to be in bed and went ballistic. All he did was watch TV… wound up with a black eye and a split lip."

"Oh _no," _Alex exhaled.

"After that Robin's mum decided they had to get away and she made plans to leave," Simon told her, "Bags packed, room lined up, everything, but he found out the night before they planned to leave and Robin…" he swallowed hard, finding it hard to say the words, "Robin watched his own father beating his mother. He thought he was going to kill her."

"What happened?"

"Robin got a knife," whispered Simon, "he tried desperately to pull him off, to protect his mum, to get him first but he was just a kid… a fifteen year old kid. His father just threw him off, kicked him to the ground, knocked him unconscious."

By now Alex's eyes were as wide as saucers. Her skin turned a deathly grey as she listened to the story of Robin's past.

"What happened next?" she whispered.

"All Robin knows after that is what the police report said," Simon rubbed his forehead, "a neighbour heard the screaming and called them. By the time they got there his father was running from the scene. He stabbed one of them in the leg and got away, never to be seen again."

"They never found him?" Alex blinked.

"Never," Simon said sadly.

"What about Robin and his mother?"

"The next thing Robin remembers is waking to find some officer standing over him. Just scooped him up and took him to hospital. Robin said he'd never felt so safe. That was the moment he decided to join the force when he was older." he hung his head. "His mother died from her injuries," he continued sadly, "and Robin… he never forgave himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He always felt he should have protected her," Simon said quietly, "the man of the house."

"But he was only a child," Alex whispered.

"Not up here," Simon tapped the side of his head.

Alex looked down.

"_Jesus," _she whispered.

"Robin's blocked out a lot" Simon told her, "it's how he survives. Instead of focusing on the big things it's like he's poured all the trauma into little things. Things that don't matter."

"Like that song," Alex guessed.

Simon nodded.

"He listened to it in repeat for weeks after that night," he whispered, "no one knows that song, Alex, it never gets played anywhere…"

"Until tonight," Alex rubbed her forehead.

Simon ran his fingers through his hair.

"Being back in ninety five has been bad enough for him," he began, "I'm terrified of what state he'll be in after hearing that song."

"OK, well first we've got to find him," Alex began, "We'll start back in the club. You check the toilets and the tables, I'll check at the bar and on the dance floor."

"And if he's not there?"

"We'll tell the Guv," Alex began, "get up a search party, check all around the building, try the station… where does he live?"

Simon took a deep breath.

"Somewhere familiar," he said.

Alex didn't need any additional details.

"We'll check the flat as well," she nodded, "come on."

As they both returned to the club they entered just in time to see a drunken Gene belting out _No More 'I Love You's_ at the top of his lungs.

"Let's just hope we don't end up needing that search party," Simon frowned.

~xXx~

_It was just a song__… just a song, that's all._

But that wasn't all. It was a kick to the head, a blow in the guts, a scream, a cry, a million memories long hidden beneath years spent healing and burying the kind of things the human mind was not designed to cope with. The moment Robin saw the year on the newspaper he began to feel those familiar sensations of anxiety, despair and fear seeping back in. He had done his best to keep them at bay but as much as he fought them they loomed on the horizon.

With the very first note of the song Robin's mind froze solid while his body went into meltdown. All at once he found himself unable to breathe, with myriad tiny fragments of the past jamming themselves into his lungs to choke him every time he tried. The glasses in his hands hell to the floor. He watched them like a slow motion scene. Drink spilled and splashed all over the floor and the music seemed to slow down as the background noise faded away. Before he knew what he was doing his feet were moving, taking him out of the building as fast as they would go.

_Just need to escape. Need to get away from the music._

He didn't know where he was going. As the music faded into the distance and the cold air began to nip at him he wished that he had one of three things - a coat, Simon or a sense of direction.

He didn't have a plan, no idea where to go. _Just walk, _his mind screamed out.

Why was this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this?

He knew now that this wasn't a dream or a hallucination. As for what it was, it could only be hell. His own personal hell.

The wind was getting colder now as he found his way onto a bridge, traffic zooming past below. He stared into the headlights as they drove through his nightmare, the patterns of light leaving trails in his vision. He had no idea how long he'd been standing there when he felt aware of a figure behind him in the darkness. He didn't turn around, not particularly caring who it was. He was likely already dead - what would be the worst that could happen? Dying again? Getting his phoney wallet stolen? It didn't seem to matter either way.

"_Great year for music."_

Robin frowned. The figure had spoken. He wasn't totally sure he'd heard correctly. It seemed a very strange thing to say to a random man on a bridge. He hesitated, unsure what to do and whether to take a look behind him. Eventually he slowly turned around and saw a vague shadow of a person, caught in the darkness between two street lights.

"I'm sorry?" he frowned.

A pair of feet shuffled slightly in the darkness.

"Nineteen ninety-five," it said, "great year for music."

Robin froze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end like some deep rooted instinct set him on high alert. He wished the figure would come out of the shadows, yet at the same time was glad he didn't have to look at him. What he couldn't see couldn't hurt him, he decided.

"If you're trying to sell me your unwanted Blur albums then tough, I've already got them all," he said quietly.

A slight trail of smoke rose from somewhere in the darkness as the hidden figure gave a slight laugh.

"No, I'm more of a Mike and the Mechanics man myself."

Robin froze. In that instant, a random track selection became something far darker.

"Who _are_ you?" he hissed, the breath taken out of him by fear. He tried to swallow but the lump in his throat wouldn't budge. "what do you want?"

A faint orange glow came as the stranger took a drag on his cigarette, then turned his back to Robin.

"Just making conversation," he said, and slowly began to walk away.

Robin stared after him, his feet frozen to the ground. He watched the back of the stranger grow smaller and smaller as he walked away, appearing and disappearing as he weaved in and out of the line of the streetlights. For some time he forgot to breathe, finally taking in a big gulp of air and feeling his heart pounding in his chest at double-time. He leaned back against the barrier, trembling a little. He had no idea what had just occurred but it had shaken him deeply.

The chill of the night began to eat away at him. He knew he had to go somewhere. _Do _something. Escape the night and the year and bloody Mike and the Mechanics.

"_I just want to go home!"_ he cried into the darkness. Nobody heard. Nobody cared. Nineteen ninety five hated him just as much the second time around.


	14. Chapter 13: Hang the DJ

**Chapter Thirteen**

Simon and Alex reunited on the dance floor to the dulcet tones of Malcolm singing _Charmless Man_

"Oh, never before has a karaoke number been so apt," Alex sighed.

"No sign?" asked Simon.

Alex shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, "he's not here."

"_Oi," _Gene appeared crossly beside them, "where the bloody hell have you pair of DC_I-need-to-talk_s been?"

"It's Robin, Gene," Alex began, "he's gone missing."

Gene barely registered her news. He had something to get off his chest.

"You left me playing gooseberry to Kite and what's-his-name. Even Metal Mickey over there took pity on me and bought me a drink!" he pointed to Kim, "she thought a scotch would cheer me up."

"It didn't?"

"It was only a bloody single," Gene sighed as Malcolm's song came to an end. "Anyway, thanks to you I had to go and amuse myself by singing three more songs. So now they're calling me Karaoke Hunt and I'm going to have to come up with thirty new putdowns to put them in their place."

"Yeah, well, while you've been exercising your vocal chords Robin's vanished," Simon said anxiously

"No he hasn't," Alex's eye was drawn to someone familiar sheepishly re-entering the club. She pointed in his direction and Simon's eyes turned to see the face he'd been desperate to locate.

"_Robin,"_ he cried.

Together, Simon and Alex ran towards him with a fairly bewildered and increasingly annoyed Gene in tow.

"He's probably been giving the Batmobile the once over," he said crossly.

Simon reached Robin and threw his arms around his neck. It was all he could do to stop himself crying with relief.

"Robin, where the _hell_ did you go?" he cried, "I couldn't see you… I tried to find you as soon as it came on.."

He drew back a little and noticed Robin's face was as pale as falling snow.

"I'm sorry, Si," he said quietly, "I had to get out of here. I couldn't stand to hear that song."

Gene, who had missed Simon's explanation, frowned in confusion.

"Was my singing really that bad?" he asked.

"No… Well, yes, it was," Alex volunteered, "but that's not the song he meant."

Simon looked at Robin seriously.

"I was terrified you were going to do something stupid," he said, "where did you _go?"_

"I just… walked," Robin said quietly, "I didn't know where I was going so I just walked round until I found my way back."

"Are you alright?"

Robin nodded slowly and closed his eyes.

"I _will _be," he said.

"Can I get you a drink?" Alex asked quietly.

"He's probably part of the lemonade watch an' all," Gene commented.

Robin rarely drank, if ever. But after a day such as this one, especially the last half an hour, he was prepared to make an exception.

"Brandy," he said.

Simon looked at him in surprise.

"Are… are you sure?" he asked. He'd seen Robin drink on only three occasions in his life.

Robin nodded.

"Anything to get rid of this world," he said quietly.

"Drink won't get rid of it," Simon said quietly, "neither did my little blue and white pills. No matter how you try to block it out, you'll still be here tomorrow."

"If Batman wants a drink let's get 'im a drink," said Gene.

Alex almost passed out in shock.

"Are you offering to… get one in?" she asked.

Gene looked confused.

"I said 'lets'," he corrected, "you're paying for half."

Simon put an arm around Robin's shoulders as they began to follow Alex and Gene. For a few moments neither spoke, but finally Robin said something. The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"Simon, something happened."

Simon froze and looked at him nervously.

"In what way… 'happened'?" he asked, "what did you do?"

Robin shook his head

"I didn't do anything," he said , "I met someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know," Robin shook his head, "It was… strange. I can't my finger on what it was. I saw just standing… watching… just trying to block things out. This man stood behind me… it sounds really dumb now I try to explain it…"

"No, go on," Simon urged.

Robin hesitated.

"He just hid in the shadows, smoking," he explained, "all he said was something about this being a good year for music."

Simon frowned.

"A bit weird," he said, "but not exactly a crime."

"Yeah, but after that he said he was a Mike and the Mechanics man," he looked pointedly at Simon, "he was here, Si. I don't know who he was, but he was here, and then he followed me."

"Why would anyone do that?" Simon frowned, "Why would anyone target you? And anyway, no one knows about that song. Uh, except Alex now. Sorry."

Robin shook his head.

"No, Simon, I'm _serious_. Something strange happened. I don't know who he was but it was too strange to be a random conversation. This man wanted me to know that he knew me."

"And you've no idea who it was?"

"He stayed in the shadows."

Simon drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew there were things and people to beware of in this world.

"Robin, do you think -" he began, but the arrival of Gene's hand with a double brandy cut him off.

"One double brandy," Gene announced, "that'll put hairs on your cape!"

Silently Robin took the glass and sipped it. The last time he'd tasted alcohol was shortly after Simon woke from his coma and his cries of Alex's name in the night prompted Robin to fear he was having an affair. Now here he was, in the same place Simon had left, facing so many of the same questions.

"Looks like the karaoke is over," sad Alex, watching as the equipment was whisked away and a DJ took the stage instead.

"And not a moment too soon," Simon remarked, worried about more drunken CID renditions of songs he used to like.

Silence fell amongst them for a few moments; a blessed chance gather their thoughts and observe some of the chaos going on around them. Simon looked nervously at Robin. He wasn't used to seeing him drink for a start and his tales of strange men talking about music had somehow unnerved him.

Breaking the silence came a particularly _smooth_ DJ who was starting up for the rest of the night.

"_Hey all you kids out there - I'll be here with you for the next two hours bringing you hit after hit!"_

"If he plays anything by Celine Dion _I'll_ be delivering hit after hit," said Gene.

The DJ adjusted his inappropriate shades and carried on.

"_Starting us off tonight I've just received a request for a song dedicated to mister Simon Shoebury…"_

Simon turned to Gene, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Don't tell me, you've requested _In These Shoes_ by Kirsty MacColl?"

Gene shook his head, for once an innocent party.

"Nothing to do with me," he said as the DJ continued.

"_Looks like you've got yourself an admirer tonight, Simon! The request says he's glad you're back where you belong… and here's the track he asked for, it's Take That with Back for Good!"_

"What the hell is this?" frowned Simon, "some kind of joke?" His eyes scanned the club to see if he could work out who'd made the request. "Where's Malcolm? Did he ask for this?"

"The only thing Malcolm's up to requesting right now is an intimate evening with the toilet bowl," said Gene.

"Well, where's Susannah?"

"Over there by the pool table, trying to crawl into a pocket," said Gene.

Simon couldn't think who else would have requested a song for him, or why. While on its own the act seemed fairly innocuous alongside Robin's bizarre musical interloper it began to seem a little suspicious. He began to walk toward the DJ as Robin called after him,

"_Si? Where are you going?"_

"I'll be right back," Simon waved over his shoulder to protests from Robin who didn't want to be left on his own.

The DJ saw Simon coming through the crowd and gave him a cheesy grin.

"_He-e-e-e-ey," _he said _smooooooothly_, "d'you have a request?"

"Yeah, I need to know who asked you to play this," Simon told him.

The DJ hesitated.

"Who's that by?" he asked eventually, "Alanis Morissette?"

Simon rolled his eyes.

"This song," he tried again "I need to know who asked you to play it."

"Some guy."

"What guy?"

"I don't know what guy… the guy with the piece of paper with the message on and the record he wanted."

"Can I see it?"

"What?"

"The _paper!"_

"_Oh_, that…" the DJ scrambled around or a moment before turning up a large pile of pink post-its. He skimmed through them for a while before admitting, "oh bugger, these were last night's… Sorry, mate, I think I lost it."

Inwardly, Simon cursed. He set off back to Robin and a curious pair of DCIs.

"What's the beef?" asked Gene, "didn't he have _Fall at your Feet?_"

Simon shuddered. He couldn't put his finger on it but something didn't feel right. Ignoring Gene, he crossed to Robin and squeezed his hand.

"We're going," he said quietly.

Robin looked a little confused, still shaken from his own experience.

"What?"

"Finish your drink," he said quietly, "we're getting out of here. We'll go back to your flat."

"I don't even know where it is."

"_I _do. Come on."

Robin nervously chewed on his lip.

"What's the matter, Simon?" he asked quietly.

Simon took a deep breath.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but something is. I don't feel safe in here any more. Not for either of us."

Robin recognised that look in Simon's eyes. It was a look that meant his instinct wasn't to be ignored. That was the very look that earned him the rank of DCI in the first place.

"OK," said Robin. He downed the rest of his brandy and got to his feet, weaving a little and wondering why Gene had turned into five Genes who were all rotating around the room. The night had taken so many turns that he wasn't completely sure the alcohol was to blame for that. Despite himself, he still hoped that if he went home and fell asleep he'd wake up tomorrow back in his own time, his own bed, in his own flat, with his own life there to lead.

It was a wish he had a dire feeling would not come true.


	15. Chapter 14: And The Cow Jumped Over

**Chapter Fourteen**

"You should have seen me, Bolly, I was belting it out like the very ghost of Madonna."

Alex frowned as she turned the key in the lock.

"Madonna's not dead," she said, "…might have had a few of her songs murdered tonight though…" She tossed her keys on the table in the hallway and walked through to the lounge, discarding her shoes along the way.

Gene had never 'moved in' but he was always there. Officially classing himself as _no fixed abode _and listing his address as _'Shiny Yellow Fiat Coupe, Fenchurch East Car Park'_, more often than not Alex's was the place he thought of as home. Never said that out loud of course. Didn't want to ruin a good thing. But in his mind where no one could see, he secretly cherished the moment he slipped a toothbrush into the pot beside the bathroom sink.

It wasn't the only thing he slipped somewhere that day, either, as he was quick to recall.

He sank down onto the classy leather couch that Alex had replaced her 'pink girly one' with a few years earlier and kicked off his shoes, alarmed to find a hole in his sock with one toe peeking through. He looked around cautiously to make sure Alex hadn't spotted it, then slipped his shoes back on.

"Funny old day," he remarked.

Alex stared at him, slightly aghast.

"Gene Hunt, the things you describe as being a funny old day…" she wandered into the kitchen to find a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, "you said that the day DCI Keats bit the bullet. You said that when we foiled that mass Meatloaf poster theft. You even said that when we found sixteen cows in the station car park."

Gene had forgotten about that.

"It _was_ funny when Malcolm asked me for their number plates," he said.

"Only because he thought you said cars," Alex reminded him. She placed the glasses and bottle on the table before him and rummaged around for a corkscrew.

"What's this for?" Gene asked with a raised eyebrow, "trying to get me plastered before you tell me the truth about my singing?"

"No," Alex smiled despite herself, "we need to talk about Simon."

Gene watched the smooth, red liquid pouring into the glass in front of him.

"Sorry to break it to you but I don't think you're his type," he commented.

"I'm serious," Alex finished pouring and sat down, glass in hand. "Gene, what is he doing back here? He's got no papers, his rank has changed, it doesn't make any sense."

"He's here to hold bloody Batman's hand," said Gene.

Alex sighed sadly.

"Robin… _does_ have his problems," she said quietly "Simon told me about his past. His family. He knows why he's here."

"Does it involve being unable to work out how to wear his underpants on the inside of his trousers?"

"Seriously, Gene, he had… family issues." she trailed off. Robin's past wasn't he business to share with anyone. It had been hard enough for Simon to share it with her. "But those are _Robin's _issues. Not Simon's. He told us himself, he _loved _nineteen ninety five. I saw him humming along to those songs in the club. I saw him sneakily checking the TV schedules and slyly punching the air when he saw his favourite episode of The X-Files was on. Even though Robin and Simon were in the accident together I have no explanation for how come Simon would end up here… _now…"_

Gene took a large mouthful of wine and swallowed with a gulp.

"I don't have all the answers, Lady B. Maybe there's something he's forgotten. Maybe 'im and Batman were so close they couldn't be separated." he paused. "Poofs."

"Gene! You've been so tolerant all day, too."

Gene sighed and continued his sentence.

"Or maybe," he stared at his glass, "Shoe-boy just hitched a ride somewhere he was already heading."

Alex nodded slowly. Her heart sank a little.

"Poor Simon," she whispered. She took a long drink from her glass, glad of the rich liquid flowing over her tongue before she continued. "He told me he was going to propose to Robin tonight," she tactfully ignored Gene choking on his wine, "before they had the accident. Before they came here."

"Which one will wear the dress?" spluttered Gene, "I s'pose Batman can wear his cape like a veil…"

"Calm down, Guv, it's legal in a few years from now."

Gene frowned.

"First the smoking ban, now this.. Any more changes to society you wanna tell me bout, Bols? What about farting? Is that still legal in yer twenty-hundreds-and-somethings?"

"Legal and acceptable are not quite the same matter," Alex commented, on alert for any unwelcome smells.

Gene took another swig of wine and began to top up his glass.

"Bloody wedding fever," he commented.

Alex looked a little sheepish. That wasn't the attitude she was hoping to hear about the subject of weddings.

"You're too cynical," she said quietly.

Gene busied himself drinking his wine and pretended not to notice the crestfallen look on Alex's face. The 'M' word had come up a few times in the last few years, especially with the recent wedding bells in CID. Gene had done his best to avoid it - Alex knew that his previous marriage hadn't ended well and that had left scars he didn't want to reopen but he knew she was leaning more towards wanting something more committed than a toothbrush by her sink.

It wasn't that he didn't want to ask her. It wasn't that he didn't already think of her - _in very secret terms _- as Mrs Hunt. It wasn't that she wasn't the only woman he could see himself sharing his life with. It was the threat of a beating heart, some fifteen years down the line, the thought he could wake up at any moment and vanish from his life.

He could never think about tomorrow. Thinking about what could happen down the line only served to make him anxious and frustrated. He had to take life with Alex one day at a time, just hoping that every time he woke she would still be by his side.

_And speaking of which,_ he thought to himself as he stood up and reached for her hand.

"Come on, Drakey."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"I ain't singing bloody Human Nature without putting some of it into practice," Gene told her firmly, "bring your wine an' all. You might be needing refreshments afterwards!"


	16. Chapter 15: Pages from Ceefax

**Chapter 15**

_It__'__s unbelievable. Totally unbelievable._

Simon looked around as he entered a familiar flat with Robin. He remembered his first night there, with a fleeting appearance by Philip Schofield and a certain annoying hand puppet in the corner of the room. He also remembered his _second_ night there, when a _not-so-gentle_man by the name of Keats arrived with a videotape for him to endure.

"It's hardly changed," he said quietly.

Robin swayed a little from side to side, his brandy infiltrating every limb.

"This is surreal," he said quietly.

Simon could only nod in agreement. He flicked on the lights and guided Robin to the couch.

"Welcome home," he said

"I refuse to use the _H _word," Robin mumbled.

Simon set off to the kitchen to find Robin a glass of water. He briefly took in the _Red Dwarf 1995 _calendar on the wall and the notice board with messages like _Video Suede tour interview_ pinned to it. It made him shudder to think of his own brief time in that flat and the journey he'd been on. He located a slightly dusty glass which he swilled out and filled, taking it back to the lounge where he found Robin switching on the TV.

"I couldn't stand the silence," he said quietly as _Michael Moore's TV Nation_ began to fill the flat, "needed some background noise."

Simon nodded. He could understand that.

"We missed the bloody X Files," sighed Simon.

Robin gave a genuine smile for the first times ince he arrived. _Yes_, he decided this was definitely Simon. _His_ Simon. Not an alternate version, not a figment not one reconstructed from a million memories. Just _Simon._

"You've got the full set on DVD," he said with a smile.

"Yeah, at _home," _Simon reminded him, "here no one's even invented a DVD player to play them on."

Robin sipped his water.

"So buy the videos," he said with joking admonishment.

"You know very well they stopped releasing them after the first eight episodes of series one were released and they didn't start releasing them again until they went on a two-and-three-parter rampage in ninety-six!"

"Which you've never quite gotten over," teased Robin.

"Maybe that's why I'm here," joked Simon, "X-Files issues."

Rob looked at him seriously as he sat by his side.

"Si? Why _are_ you here?"

Simon didn't have an answer for that. He really wished he did.

"Pass," he said quietly.

Robin looked down.

"And me… I know why _I'm_ here… I mean, I know why this year… I think… but what am I supposed to be here to _do?" _he sighed. "Am I supposed to stop it happening?"

"I didn't have to stop anything when I came back last time," Simon thought back, "I… I think it was more about _confronting_ it."

"I don't want to confront this," Robin said crossly, "I spent years trying to bury it."

Simon exhaled loudly with a slow nod.

"So did I," he said quietly, staring at the wall, "when I woke in eighty five it brought everything back. The bullying, the violence, the names..."

Robin glanced sadly at Simon. He'd been so calm and reassuring all through the day he he'd almost forgotten how traumatic it had been for him the first time around. He reached out and laid his hand atop Simon's, showing that a new bond had grown between them. They'd been friends, then lovers, but now they shared something more. Something every few could ever experience.

Simon smiled as he felt Robin's hand close over his. Gene's words played through his mind again and again. If this world existed to help coppers sort out their issues then Robin would have to face his past, like it or not. However, there was one other link that he couldn't shake.

"Robin, I think I know how to get out of this place."

Robin's eyes grew wide.

"How?"

"When I woke up I was in a car accident," Simon began, "I was the passenger, and some red-haired DI was in the driver's seat. According to Alex and Hunt. We were chasing Nailer."

Robin's jaw dropped.

_"Nick _Nailer?"

Simon nodded.

"The very same."

Robin leaned back with a loud sigh, trying to comprehend the significance of the parallel.

"Wow," he said quietly. He chewed ferociously on his lip. "So we're here to stop Nailer?"

"That's my guess," said Simon, "I mean, why else would we _both _be here? I've got no ninety-five issues."

Robin ran a hand through his hair. Now he was picking up Simon's habits, he decided. He looked seriously at his partner.

"Do you think if we catch him we'll get home?"

"I think it's the best chance we've got," said Simon, "If we catch him in ninety-five he won't be there to chase in two thousand and ten."

"You're sounding terribly _paradoxy," _Robin said warily. He liked that they could be geeky together. The complexities of time travel and the whole _going-back-in-time-and-killing-your-_grandfather scenario was one they had explored at length some time ago. It was a night that had ended with mutual migraines, cold showers and at least one smashed plate so it wasn't a conversation Robin wanted to have again now.

"I think it's more… _metaphysical _than that," said Simon, "Like if we beat Nailer then we've beaten the coma. Kind of." he frowned. "Does that make sense?"

Robin nodded slowly.

"I think so," he said quietly.

"Well, it looks as though I am working with CID for the time being, since no one has found any papers for me yet," Simon stared absently at the TV, "Hunt actually asked me to help them nail Nailer."

He had a very unfortunate name for a criminal, Simon thought to himself. With name like Nick Nailer the possibilities were endless - that's if anyone ever _succeeded_ in nicking or nailing him.

"Good for you," mumbled Robin, still feeling a little woozy from the brandy, "at least you get to chase the bastard and grab your ticket home. I'm just PC Plod, the new kid on the block, first day on the job." he gulped down some water and sighed despondently. "You got to keep your rank - I'm the wet-behind-the-ears idiot who caused a scene on his first day, crying about a dog!"

Suddenly Robin's heart began to sink. With all that had happened he had almost managed to forget about Cassandra. Why hadn't he followed Simon's advice and gone with her to the emergency vet instead of chasing slippery crims?

"Well, leave that with me," said Simon, "I'll see if I can pull some strings."

Robin put down his glass and rubbed his forehead.

"Right back to the _beginning," _he groaned, "I was an inspector, head of the canine division at Fenchurch East!

"I got a 'demotion' last time too, remember," Simon pointed out.

"Yeah, but not right back to your first day," Robin moaned, "it reminds me of that game show the Chuckle Brothers did…"

Simon took a literal move backward.

"That's a bit random," he said.

"_To Me To You_, it was called," Robin reminisced, "There was a square the contestants sometimes landed on… _'Back to the start'_… that's what must have happened to me."

Despite the awkward and bizarre situation, Simon gave a little laugh.

"Look, I'll do what I can," he promised, "maybe what we need is a _keen new PC_ to join the search for Nailer."

"I hope so," said Robin, "otherwise I'm going to end up _throwing_ nails at that stupid sergeant…"

Simon leaned toward Robin with a smile and laid his head on his shoulder for a moment, then gave a sigh.

"I think we'd better get to bed" he said quietly, "I'm exhausted, and I want to get up early tomorrow. Need to speak to Hunt about _recruiting _someone to the team."

Robin nodded in agreement and the two of them rose from the couch. Switching off the TV, then the light, Simon led Robin to the bedroom where they found a weedy, pathetic little single bed.

"_Huh," _said Robin.

Simon scratched his head.

"I guess you were supposed to be on this journey without a plus-one," he said quietly.

Robin looked at Simon in alarm.

"Tell me you're not leaving me here on my own?" he panicked.

Echoes of his first night in Gene's world came back to Simon as he recalled making the same plea to Alex, who spent the night on his sofa to protect him from visions of Gordon the Gopher.

"No way," said Simon, "I'm not going anywhere." he paused. "Got no where to go even if I wanted to. Which I don't," he was quick to point out.

"What about the bed?"

"We'll squash in," said Simon, "just keep your elbows in check, you poke me enough with them on a normal night!"

~xXx~

As they set about some semblance of a bedtime routine it brought a tiny shard of normality back to the two wandering souls. Arguing over who got the single toothbrush, teasing each other about the tasteless pyjamas they tried on from Robin's new wardrobe, laying their clothes out for the morning and setting the alarm - it gave them little more grasp over reality than they'd had all day.

Cramped and cold, they snuggled down together in the bed and prepared for their first night away from home.

"Do you mind if we leave the TV on?" Robin asked, pointing to the portable in the corner of the room where _Newsnight_ was drawing to a close.

"Of course not," Simon felt rather glad of the background noise as they settled down together.

~xXx~

Against all odds, both fell asleep quickly that night. Both were physically tired and emotionally exhausted, plus sore from the 'accidents' they had met in 1995. The day began to slip away as the hours passed. In the corner of the room the TV still played away to its sleeping audience, with BBC2's programmes ending for the night and _The Learning Zone_ coming on in its place.

Halfway through some _riveting _piece of informative television, a bolt of static came out of the blue. The picture fizzled and zigzagged before retuning to normal. A second bolt came out, fizzing and hissing as the screen erupted into sparklies again. This time the noise of the static woke Robin from his shallow slumber and drew his tired eyes to the screen.

From the depths of the static, a teletext page appeared.

Robin frowned and rubbed his eyes.

"Huh? _What the.. _Must have laid on the remote," he mumbled, fishing it out from under him. He fumbled around in the darkness, trying to find the right button but the TV fizzed again and a news page appeared clearly before him.

"_LONDON POLICE INSPECTOR UNCONSCIOUS BUT STABLE," _the headline read.

For a moment Robin thought he was still dreaming. He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, examining the screen a little more closely but the headline stayed the same. With a racing pulse, he read on;

"_Fire and ambulance crews worked at the scene for an hour and a half before Robin Thomas, 30, was pulled from the wreckage. He was rushed to hospital and his condition is said to be 'critical but stable'."_

"_I'm alive…"_ Robin breathed. The page flipped round to the second part and he began to read the first line;

"_A second man found in the wreckage -"_

FFFFFFFZZZZZTTTTTT!

_Damn static,_ Robin thought angrily, pressing a few buttons and trying to bring back the page, but to his horror he found there were no teletext buttons on the remote control. To his further horror, he found it wasn't even a teletext TV.

"_Shit!"_

"Huh?"

Robin turned to see a sleepy Simon beginning to stir.

"Simon! Si… you won't believe this… I had a message!"

"Hmm?"

"A message… Simon, a message came on the TV, just now."

Simon blinked a few times and stared at the programme on screen, exploring issues in economics.

"What are you talking about?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Robin placed his hands on Simon's face and said urgently,

"There was a message on the TV, Si. It came on through teletext. _Analogue_ teletext! Like the one I used to check the TV news on every day. It said I'd been found - _alive! _I'm… _critical but stable_, they said. I'm alive, Simon!"

The enormity of Robin's words began to dawn on Simon. He sat up a little in bed and his eyes began to open wide.

"Rob, you know what that means?" he began to feel excited for him, "that means you're doing it! You're fighting. You're going to get back!"

"How did that get through?" cried Robin, "I mean…"

Simon shook his head.

"I don't understand it either," he said, "but that's happened to me too, the last time. You're _alive,_ Robin! You're going to make it - I swear you will."

With the news sinking in to both of them, Robin and Simon sat and hoped endlessly for another page to come on or another message to appear, and even though nothing else came through that night they both felt invigorated, hopeful and anxious for the next day to arrive to get back on the trail of Nailer.

~xXx~

And in all their sleep, their excitement, their anticipation, the footsteps outside the front door went unheard as they drew closer, stopped for a moment and then passed by.


	17. Chapter 16: Simply Dead

**Chapter Sixteen**

_# __"…Driving down an endless road_

_Taking friends or moving alone_

_Pleasure at the fairground on the way…" #_

The alarm clock burst into life bright and early. Simon tried to fight the music as it began pulling him out of his slumber but the volume was too high to ignore. He felt a shudder as he thought about the first lines of the song. They eerily summed up the previous day.

_# __"…It's always friends that feel so good_

_Let's make amends like all good men should_

_Pleasure at the fairground on the way.." #_

He pulled himself upright in the cramped, unfamiliar bed and nudged Robin.

"Robin? Hey, Rob…"

A grumpy groan came from the Robin-sized lump under the duvet.

"Hmmmpff?"

"Time to wake up."

_# __"…Walk around, be free and roam_

_There's always someone leaving alone_

_Pleasure at the fairground on the way…" #_

Robin stirred to the music filling the room. Something about the presence of those lyrics disturbed him. He sat up slowly, a tiny hint of a hangover lurking over one eye, and rubbed his forehed.

"Morning," he mumbled.

_# "…And I love the thought of coming home to you_

_Even if I know we can't make it._

_I love the thought of giving hope to you_

_Just a little ray of light shining through…" #_

The two men exchanged a nervous glance. Neither wanted to voice what they were thinking but both were reading a hidden meaning into the words. With each line that played it seemed to sum up a little more of their situation. Spooked by the parallels, Simon's hand shot out and switched off the alarm. He exhaled loudly with relief.

"That's _quite_ enough of that," he admonished the radio.

After the uncomfortable musical start to the day, Simon and Robin prepared for what they were about to faced. They showered and dressed, then sat down to breakfast where Simon imparted some advice.

"Just go along with whatever they say," he began, "none of them know where you're from, they all believe whatever back-story is in your paperwork. They think you've just joined the force and are new to the job. I know it's hard to take a… virtual demotion," he tried to think of an appropriate phase, "but just try to deal with it the best you can." He took the last piece of toast and pulled on his jacket. "and listen to your sergeant!"

"Yes, mum," Robin teased.

Simon rushed to the door.

"I'd better go now if I want to talk to Hunt before the rest of CID arrive," he said as he opened the front door. He was in such a hurry that he almost overlooked the large, brown envelope propped up against the wall. Spotting it out of the corner of his eye he scooped down and lifted it to study it further. Robin's name was printed across the outside and a strange sense of anxiety ran over Simon. He backed up into the flat and held it up. "Rob?"

Robin abandoned the rest of his breakfast to see what was going on and to his surprise found Simon and the envelope.

"What's that?" he frowned.

"Looks like someone had a present for you," said Simon.

Robin closed in on the envelope.

"No one knows I'm here," he frowned, "do they?"

"Someone does," Simon pointed out. He turned the envelope over and began to work it open with his finger. Inside he found a set of photographs which he removed and held out to Robin.

"What the _hell…?" _Robin took them and turned the first couple over. The first shot showed a picture of a car, the second of a man climbing out of it. The third showed the building where the car had arrived and the forth was a close-up on the man from the second picture. "Oh God, Simon, look who it is…"

Simon studied the picture. The features of the man seemed familiar but it took him a few moments to work out who it was.

"_Nailer?" _he breathed. A hand rose involuntarily to his mouth as Robin flipped to the fifth picture. It had been taken through a window of the building, clearly showing Nailer on the phone.

"What's all this about?" Robin frowned. He turned the photograph over and found the address of the building scrawled on the back.

"It looks like you've got an informant," Simon said quietly.

Robin looked a little nervous.

"How can I have an informant?" he asked, "I've only just arrived here!"

Simon shook his head slowly.

"I've no idea," he said quietly, "but someone wants you to find Nailer."

"Us," said Robin.

"_You,"_ Simon repeated, "look, it's your name on the envelope."

The two men stared at the photos in silence for a few moments. Neither really knew what to say. Eventually Robin placed the photos back carefully in their envelope and handed them to Simon.

"I think you should take this to Hunt," he said, "see if this helps your case for recruiting that handsome, brave, heroic new PC onto your team."

Simon raised an eyebrow.

"The only one of those words I used last night to describe you was 'new'!" he reminded him.

"Nothing wrong with talking me up a bit," Robin pointed out.

"I don't think that's going to get very far with Hunt," Simon pointed out, "but trust me. I'll do everything I can."

This time Simon left the flat with no further surprises waiting outside and set off to set his plan into action. Clutching the envelope he went over and over in his head who could have left that outside, and why someone would give them to Robin. The answers were not forthcoming but he hoped they would fit into place with time.

Until then, it was time to show Gene a few snaps and hope that Nailer hadn't decided to move on already.

~xXx~

_**Sorry for the short chapter. The next one is going to be quite lengthy so I wanted to post this now as a stand-alone chapter before going onto the next one, just so it didn**__**'t end up too waffly! **_

_**I had a spooky moment this morning after writing this yesterday. I used Fairground by Simply Red in this chapter because I was trying to think of songs I used to listen to around this time in '95 (you might have guessed '95 made a big impression on me!) and I remembered buying and listening to this repeatedly. When I thought about the lyrics it totally freaked me out how apt the song was. Anyway, this morning I was walking home from the shops with that song in my head because of this chapter and what should drive past but a trailer with half a fairground ride from a travelling funfair on the back! Really freaked me out, so I decided I had to post this up ASAP!**_


	18. Chapter 17: Unauthorised Paperclip Usage

**Chapter Seventeen**

Gene strode through CID to the door of his office. The night had picked up after he'd whisked Alex to bed and his mood that morning was bright and boastful. He had made sure to leave the lipstick marks visible on his shirt and a slightly tousled look to his hair. He wanted to leave his department in no doubt about what kind of a night _he'd _had.

As the mighty door to his office opened wide and Gene made to walk through he heard some footsteps racing towards him and a voice crying his name.

"_DCI Hunt!"_

He turned to see a slightly breathless Simon approaching with a large, brown envelope clutched tightly in his hand.

"Don't tell me," he began, "the newsagent mixed up my tastefully nude ladies magazine with yer copy of Nerd Monthly?"

Simon ignored Gene and thrust the envelope into his hands, panting a little for breath.

"You're going to want to see this," he said.

"Not if it's a copy of Nerd Monthly Magazine," said Gene, but he opened the envelope and pulled out the photographs. His brow furrowed as he cast his eye over them. "Where did you get these?" he asked, "and why has that Nailer got a better car than me?"

"Someone left them outside Robin's front door," Simon told him, "I found them this morning. They were meant for Robin, not for me." he paused. "And probably because he sells thousands of pounds worth of drugs a week." He paused. "Nailer not Robin. The car thing."

"So _El Capeo _has a friend with a camera," Gene commented as he flicked through the photos for a second time. He turned the last photo over and read the note on the back. _"Kingsgate, Montana Yard."_

"No idea when these were taken," said Simon, "so I can't guarantee he'll still be there."

"Only one way to find out," said Gene, "time for a tour of Montana Yard." He scratched his head, handing the photos and envelope back to Simon. "Is there any point me wasting my breath here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Asking if Robin knows who left these?"

Simon shook his head.

"We've go no idea, Sir," he tried his best to show respect, "but we both feel that it would be useful if Robin… came on board."

"We're not bloody sailing there!"

"I mean on board with the case."

Gene scowled.

"You can't play Fantasy CID League based on who you're slipping it to," he said.

"Works for you and Alex…" Simon said innocently.

Simon's comment took Gene by surprise. He hadn't expected anyone to stand up to him that way, least of all the scrawny nerd who'd showed up in his office ten years earlier, breaking three toes and crying over his iPhone or oPhone or whatever the vowel it was. The smidgen of respect they'd started to gain for each other the day before grew incrementally, but at least it was progress.

"I don't think his Sergeant will be pleased to lose his new plod on his first day," he said.

Simon rocked back on his heels.

"Do you like his sergeant?" he asked.

Gene recalled the snooty attitude he'd give them the previous day and raised an eyebrow.

"You raise a good point, Shoe-boy," he nodded. "I will go and procure the latest copper on the block for our purposes. You can brief the head of emerging narcotics about our field trip." He saw Simon's blank expression. "That's DCI Drake to me and you."

Simon nodded.

"Fine," he agreed.

He watched Gene leave before attempting to navigate his way to Alex's pokey office. After taking two wrong turns and ending up firstly in a toilet and then in the stationery cupboard he finally found the door he was looking for and knocked politely.

"Come in?" a slightly confused voice replied and Simon opened the door to see Alex walking slightly awkwardly.

"Alex, Hunt said…" he began but trailed off. "Are you OK?"

"Fine, fine… why?"

"You're walking a bit funny"

Alex blushed.

"Pulled a muscle," she said hurriedly, "what did Gene say?"

"Oh…" he stepped inside and frowned as he watched Alex fishing out a soft cushion, placing it on her chair and sinking gingerly down into it. "He said to come and tell you… are you _sure_ you're OK?"

"I'm fine," Alex flinched, "Ow! Oh, lord…" she adjusted her posterior on the cushion slightly and tried hard to cover up her rather awkward posture. "What did Gene want you to tell me?"

Simon looked at her curiously but thought it best not to pry. He cleared his throat and handed her the photographs.

"Something strange happened this morning," he began quietly, "I spent the night with Robin… I don't seem to have a home… and overnight someone left these outside the door with Robin's name on the envelope.

"Robin's?" Alex frowned as she took and studied the pictures. She gave a little gasp as she realised who she was looking at. _"Nailer!"_

"Hunt is getting Robin from uniform now," said Simon. He spotted a little pot on Alex's desk which was filled with paperclips and absently picked it up, removing a few paperclips and throwing one into the air. He tried to catch it in the pot but succeeded in knocking it sideways instead. _"Damn."_

Alex eyed his paperclip game warily and tried to ignore it.

"Do either of you have any idea where these have come from?" she asked.

Simon shook his head as a second paperclip went awry.

"I hadn't even thought about this before but something strange _did_ happen last night."

"If you mean Malcolm's banjo-juggling routine, I _warned_ him not to sharpen them first."

"No. I mean the… _huh?" _Simon frowned, "I think we must have missed that bit. Why was he sharpening them anyway?" he shook his head, "actually, forget it, I don't want to know."

"So what happened?" Alex asked.

Simon threw one more paperclip and actually caught it in the pot.

"When the song set him off and he walked out the club, he began, "he encountered some strange gentleman who'd been following him."

"Following him?"

"He thinks so, anyway. Made some very pointed comments about the song that triggered his memories. He'd been there. Alex. It sounded like… like he even knew what the song _meant _to Robin."

Alex felt a shudder travel through her limbs. She didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Did get a good look at him?" she asked.

"I asked him that, but he said it was dark and he stayed hidden, more or less," Simon sighed, "then when he came back and the DJ started up… and by the way, what the hell was with _my_ dedication?" A paperclip hit him on the nose. _"Ow!"_

"OK, first, _stop_ that," Alex finally grew tired of his game and grabbed the pot from across the desk. She flinched as her comfy cushion fell to the floor. "Did you not find out who requested the song?"

"The DJ lost the request slip," Simon told her, "I can't put my finger on it but something didn't sit right. I thought Hunt requested it at first but he'd have picked something more… _shoe related_," his lip curled a little in annoyance. "There were only you, Gene, Malcolm and Susannah who knew mefrom before. Why would anyone else request _Back for Good? _That's one thing I _don't _want to be!"

Alex cleared her throat and shuffled uncomfortably. She looked away and stared at the confiscated paperclips.

"Well, at least Take That wasn't a trigger for you," she said.

"Triggered enough traumatic memories of my sister E;aine crying all night when they split up!" Simon told her.

Alex gave him a tiny smile. The request the night before had seemed innocuous enough to her at the time but now she came to think about it there did seem to be a sinister undercurrent to it. She decided the best thing to do for now was to concentrate on the photographs and catching Nailer, then mysterious musical experts could come later.

Awkwardly she stood up and began to walk from behind her desk, leaving Simon free to swipe the confiscated paperclips.

"Well, let's just get our hands on Nailer first," she said, "and hopefully Robin's mystery informant will come forward in time."

Simon watched her coming closer to himself and the door.

"Wait, one more," he said, flipping up a paperclip and watching it settle on the rim of the ceiling light. He flushed an unusual colour as Alex raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the door.

"You're replacing those," she told him.

Simon looked a little sheepish.

"Now _that, _I can do," he said, "by coincidence I have recently located the stationery cupboard…"

~xXx~

Simon and Alex arrived in CID just in time to see Gene get back with Robin in tow. Behind Robin a second uniformed officer followed, looking a bit lost.

"Robin!" Simon said in relief, then frowned at the extra face. "And… someone who _isn't_ Robin…"

Gene turned around and for the first time caught sight of the random interloper.

"Who the bloody hell's _this?" _he cried.

"I'm Thomas," the stranger said rather indignantly.

"_Thomas?"_ Gene repeated, "is that supposed to mean something to me?

"You said you wanted my help!"

"_Robin Thomas!"_ cried Gene, slapping his forehead, _"His _name is Robin Thomas!" He jabbed a finger in the direction of Robin.

"_Ohhh…." _Thomas said as the truth dawned on him, "I see where the confusion has come from."

Gene took a step closer and towered over the young PC, his hot breath practically giving the chap an unwanted haircut.

"Oh you _do, _do you?"

"Yeah, see, _his_ name is Robin _Thomas…_ well, my name is _Thomas Roberts…"_

"Your name is going to be _mud_ in a minute…" Gene scowled.

Thomas glanced und nervously at the mix of angry, bewildered and amused faces.

"I… guess you didn't mean me then?" he asked.

"Good god, whatever gave you that idea?" Gene was slowly turning a colour synonymous with beetroots, "didn't you think it was a strange when you were suddenly drafted into CID in your first week?"

"I just thought," Thomas gulped, "that you'd spotted my… potential."

"I'm spotting a wet patch on yer pants," Gene told him "go on, get out!"

Thomas nodded ashamedly and scampered before he truly did leave a wet patch on the front of his trousers in fear and almost ran into a groggy Susannah on her way into the office.

"Oh, Hangover Brigade's arriving," Gene commented.

A pale Susannah slowly removed her dark glasses.

"Tension headache," she lied.

"Oh yeah, what happpened? Clutch yer glass too tightly last night?" he glanced around. "Where's Malcolm?"

"He's still at the hospital," Susannah apologised, "having pieces of banjo removed."

Robin looked blankly at Simon.

"Don't ask," he advised.

"Where's Metal Mickey?" Gene asked.

"Kim?" asked Susannah, "I passed her on the stairs."

Alex frowned.

"I didn't see her up here," she said, "I wonder where she's going?"

"Right," Gene surveyed the scene, "Drakey, take DCI Shoebury and PC Thomas to my office."

"What's going on?" frowned Susannah.

"Nailer case. Got a lead."

"I'll be right there, sir."

Gene held up his hand.

"Not needed this time, Kite."

Susannah froze. She hadn't expected Gene to come out with that.

"What do you mean, _'not needed'?" _she cried, "I'm your DI!"

"Which is why I'm trusting you with the Miller case," said Gene.

"The Miller case is yesterday's news!" cried Susannah, "Yesterday I was on board with Nailer… why are you dropping me now?"

"Drafted in some uniform manpower," said Gene, "you concentrate on getting rid of those hammers banging yer head in."

"Guv?" Alex said quietly, "Could I have a word?"

Gene looked at Alex then back at Susannah.

"Get that paperwork tied up on the Miller case," he reiterated, "and put yer sunnies back on. Those bags are dragging across the floor." He took a couple of steps away with Alex and waited. "Well?"

"Why are you taking Kite off the Nailer case?" Alex asked.

Gene glanced around.

"Look who we've got on the warpath against our friend Nick." he said.

"Yes, but we still need all the help we can get," said Alex, "and Susannah is bloody good on a stakeout."

"Shoeboy and Batman can't stop flapping their lips," Gene hissed, "you want Kite to hear about the latest kind of elephant repellent in two-thousand and ten or how many more wrinkles Nailer's gonna have fifteen years down the line?" He sighed. "Kite's not stupid. Yesterday it was Simon's missing papers, today It'll be the caped crusader talking about getting home and she's going to start thinking about this too much."

Alex looked at Gene sadly. It was true, ever word of it. Their unique situation meant that Simon and Robin knew each others' circumstances and predicament and there was no way they would both be able to keep their mouths shut. Like Gene said, Kite certainly wasn't dumb.

Fine," she said quietly, "let's stick with the four of us then. We'll make sure Terry and Poirot are standing by in case we need back-up."

Gene glanced from Simon to Robin, then back at Alex.

"One more thing, Bols," he began, "you take the caped crusader with you."

"Guv?"

"I'm not having anyone sat in me Fiat with their underpants outside their tights!"

~xXx~

"We don't know whether Nailer is still hiding out at Montana Yard," Gene began, pacing up and down, "all we have are the photographs Shoebury brought me this morning. We don't know who left them, we don't know why."

"What _do_ we know?" asked Alex.

"We know Nailer escaped several marked and unmarked cars yesterday," said Gene.

"In two time zones," Robin mumbled.

"And we know that someone must have followed him to take these pictures.

"Or knows him," Simon suggested.

"Whether the amateur photographer hates Nailer or likes Robin, we don't know. But we've got the information so we'd better act on it before it's too late. Drake, take a car from the car pool and take Batman with you. Flip-flop, you're with me."

"Why can't I go with Simon?" Robin frowned.

"Because we're going on a stakeout, not a game of _Metaphysics 101_," said Gene, "I'm doing your pal here a big favour bringing you on board, so don't let me down, Robin."

Robin nodded slowly.

"No, sir."

Gene grabbed his keys, checked his pocket flask was topped up and reached for the envelope.

"Shoebury, one word about phones and I'll disconnect yer bollocks, OK?"

Simon thrust his hands into his pockets grumpily and kicked a scrunched up piece of paper.

"Yes _Sir,"_ he said sarcastically.

"Oh, and one more thing," he addressed Simon as Alex and Robin filtered out the room.

Simon sighed.

"Yes?"

"As my specially selected passenger of the day you have the extreme honour of buying my morning latte. Get moving!"


	19. Chapter 18: Dog Tired and StarryEyed

_**I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been reading and especially to everyone who has reviewed this fic so far - your comments have really helped inspire me. I am a bit behind in replying to reviews because FFnet wouldn**__**'t let me respond for a couple of days but I'll catch up over the weekend! I hope you enjoy the latest part.**_

_**~xXx~**_

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sore and humiliated, Malcolm shuffled late to work as three DCIs and a demoted Robin left the building. He tried to hide behind a drainpipe at first so as to avoid the mocking wrath of Hunt but despite being somewhat skinny he was never going to get away with his cunning plan.

"_Malcolm!"_

Malcolm cringed. That was the tone he'd been hoping to avoid.

"Good morning, Sir," he said quietly.

"Still morning, is it?" Gene began to rant, "exactly how many pieces of banjo did they have to pull out yer backside?"

"They were mostly in my head, actually…" Malcolm flushed.

"Gene, we don't have time for this," Alex sighed, still walking on ahead.

Gene glanced from Alex and the others to Malcolm.

"Lucky for you we're tracking down a rat," he began, "so I don't have time to give you a proper bollocking now. If you manage to clean up the rest of the Miller paperwork with Kite I might just let you off on account of the number of jokes I'm going to get out of your banjo incident. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, yes Guv," gulped Malcolm, barely noticing a grey-haired member of the public wandering towards them with a little yappy dog on a lead.

"Glad to hear it," Gene told him.

Before he had a chance to head towards his car, the lost old lady approached them and began;

"_Excuse me, young man, could you tell me where…"_

As her question flowed around Malcolm's ears his eyes were drawn completely to the little dog on the end of the lead. Yapping and yelping a little, its bark - _such as it was _- was most definitely worse than its bite. So why did he feel so nervous in its presence?

Almost before his eyes the small canine morphed itn something so much bigger, wilder, angrier. A dangerous beast with gnashing teeth, terrifying claws, the sound of its barking deep and deafening and its eyes flashing with the thrill of the kill.

The image overpowered him, sent him reeling backwards. His heart raced and his pulse thundered in his ears. He could feel himself falling to the ground, the terror flowing through every limb and taking every ounce of sense and lucidity from his body and mind.

One last bark, one last bite, the sight of the teeth crunching as the dog headed towards him - and then, nothing. Over. Gone. The moment had passed and the images and sounds had faded but the terror remained.

As the seconds passed by so slowly he became slowly more aware of his surroundings. Sat on the ground, backed up against the wall he found himself facing the tiny dog he'd seen before. It whimpered with confusion as the old lady mumbled something about him being a waste of tax payers money while Alex quickly told her the directions she'd been looking for.

Malcolm was aware of the angry glare Gene was throwing his way. He could see confusion on the faces of everyone around him. He closed his eyes, just for a moment and tried to make sense of what had happened.

Eventually, after no one had dared to speak for a few seconds, Gene opened his mouth.

"I can only guess those specs of yours have magnifying glass in 'em," he began, "because that is the only explanation I can think of for anyone to find a dog of that stature so terrifying that they'd park their arse in the flowerbed!"

"I… I'm sorry," Malcolm could hardly speak, "I thought… I just… that _dog…"_

Simon stepped forward and helped him out of the polyanthus.

"I know what you mean," he shuddered, "can't stand them either. Frighten the living daylights out of me."

"Hey!" frowned Robin.

Malcolm dusted his velvet trousers down a little and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm normally _fine_ with dogs," he fond himself trembling a little, "I don't know what that was… I don't know _why…_ I just thought I saw something…"

"There will be time to list the pros and cons of dog-keeping later," Alex began, "we need to get a move on."

She shot a glance at Gene who tried not to meet her eyes and motioned to Simon.

"It's getting on for nine and there's no latte in me system yet," he said, mentally hauling him towards the car.

As the four of them set off on a mission to track Nailer, Malcolm took a few moments to breathe and recuperate. He had seen that dog, he was sure of it. Not the little scrap of a pooch the old lady had been out walking; a large and dangerous dog with one thing on its mind - the taste of flesh.

After several minutes had passed he felt that his legs were able to work again and began walking up the stairs until he reached CID. He was forever thankful to see Susannah there before him.

"Oh thank _god," _he breathed.

Susannah glanced around.

"Hey," she smiled, "did they get it all?"

Malcolm frowned.

"All what?"

"The banjo."

Malcolm sighed. Suddenly the whole banjo incident seemed a million miles away.

"Susie, something happened," he said quietly.

Susannah gathered some papers.

"Yeah, you're not kidding, bloody Hunt took me off the Nailer case for no reason."

"No, I… he did what?"

"He took me off the case! Left me to finish up the Miller stuff instead."

"But you did all the background work."

"Yes, _thank_ you!" Susannah felt validated, "I don't want to sound like I'm whining but…" for the first time she noticed his jaded appearance. "Mal, are you alright?" she frowned, "you look like you're trembling."

Malcolm bit his lip, suddenly unsure whether to share his strange experience with Susannah or not. There was a notable age gap between them, one in the region of six years or so, and every now and then he worried that he still wasn't quite as mature as he ought to be. Sometimes he worried that she mothered him a little too much. He didn't mind, but did _she? _Perhaps he needed to be stronger, not to show his weaknesses.

"I just… a dog just caught me off guard, that's all," he said.

"You've got mud on your suit."

Malcolm tried to brush a little more away.

"_Shit," _he cursed. He watched as Susannah began sorting papers into piles and took a deep breath. "Susie, does…do things feel _strange_ to you? Different?"

Susannah looked up nervously.

"You're not having doubts about getting engaged are you?"

"No, not about _us,"_ Malcolm said quickly, "about _here…_ CID."

Susannah hesitated. Her mind ran through events of recent times and she couldn't deny that she'd felt the same.

"Yes," she said quietly, it does."

She left her piles of paper and walked across to Malcolm where they sat side-by-side on the edge of a desk.

"I was trying to work out when it started," he said quietly, "I mean, things have never been… _straightforward_. Not from the moment I joined."

Susannah nodded.

"Right back when we started in Fenchurch East, things have always been a bit… different."

"We've had some oddballs working here," Malcolm considered, "and the Guv has always been pretty old-school."

"But lately…" she let out a deep sigh. "Kim's behaviour has always been crazy. I don't buy this whole fake-death scenario about Simon either. And I can't find any record of him being transferred here."

"What's with all the secret convos?" asked Malcolm, "Hunt, Drake and Shoebury in a huddle all the time?"

"I don't know," Susannah stared absently at the wall, "but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. I don't feel comfortable with this situation. I don't like the fact that we're being excluded. We are supposed to be a team. It hasn't felt that way… for a **long** time now."

Malcolm nodded slowly.

"I know," he said quietly, "I've been feeling the same. I've been feeling strange since… well, since I joined CID."

Susannah glanced at him.

"And I've been feeling this way since my promotion."

"Maybe it's us," said Malcolm, "maybe _we've_ changed?"

Susannah shook her head.

"It's not us, it's not… not _anyone_ specifically. Not really. It's something… in the air." She sighed deeply. "I can't explain it any better than that. I sound like an idiot now."

Malcolm gave her a gentle smile.

"Not in the slightest," he assured her.

Making the most of the quiet office he leaned towards her and let his forehead come to rest against hers. He cupped her face gently and kissed her familiar lips. The taste of her lipstick and the tiny sigh under her breath brought him some comfort and a firmer footing, just as he was starting to feel anxious about losing his grip on the world.

Breaking the kiss before anyone could spring them and give them seven shades of hell for it, they linked hands and looked intensely into each other's eyes. Both felt strange and knew all was not right with the world and neither could place what was wrong. Despite the strange morning they were both going through they knew that they would be alright, as long as they had each other.

Out of he corner of his eye Malcolm thought he caught a glimpse of something but blinked it away as impossible. He reached out to hold Susannah ad clung to her as though she could make the vision disappear. He closed his eyes and held her close, despite her protests that the would never here the end of it if Poirot came back from the canteen too soon. He didn't care about that - all he needed was a warm embrace to make him feel safe and alive.

The twinkle of starlight in the corner of the room would fade with the sound of her happy sigh, he was certain.


	20. Chapter 19: Mixed Doubles

**Chapter Nineteen**

The silence was deafening.

In the forty-five minutes since they'd parked outside the grounds of Montana Yard the only word spoken had been _'shit!' _when hot latte spilled across Gene's lap. Gene knew who the conversation killer was. It was the big white elephant in the back of the car. He turned to look at Simon.

"You're thinking about that tape again," he said, "aren't you?"

Simon glanced sideways at Gene and swallowed.

"One minute you're Saint Peter, the next you're Derren Brown," he commented.

"Is that one of those Britpop idiots?" asked Gene.

Simon gave a tiny laugh under his breath.

"Doesn't matter," he said quietly.

Gene wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"I know you're still thinking about it," he said.

"It's not the easiest thing to forget," Simon commented.

"Yeah, well," Gene took his flask from his pocket and swigged from it, "that's what Jimbo does best. Finds images that stick in yer mind."

Simon looked away. He knew what Gene meant.

"I keep worrying you're going to freak out at me," he admitted.

"_I _keep worrying you're going to start crying over your phone again," Gene told him.

"I'm a bit off iPhones now, to be honest," Simon rubbed his temples.

The silence returned, but Gene didn't want it to run on too long and began again.

"Times change. People change. Things were different then. That's how we got things done."

"That's how _you_ got things done."

Gene shook his head.

"I've not seen this _tape,"_ he spat, "but I'd put good money on it being from before you were even born. You've no idea what things used to be like." He offered Simon the flask and received a disgusted flap in response. "It must have been twenty years ago, Shoebury. Know how much things change in twenty years? It's like…" he trailed off.

"Waking up on another planet?"

Gene nodded slowly.

"I'm a rare breed, me. That's why I've 'ad to change. Otherwise I'd have been out of a job years ago. And I'm needed." He sipped his whiskey. "I know how to play the game. I can bend the rules as they change. But I'll never apologise for who I used to be." He stared out of the window, keeping an eye out for Nailer. "That doesn't mean to say I've not changed me views a bit. You meet people, they change yer life. You, Drakey, going way back, everyone who's passed through my team has taught me something.."

Simon had been staring at Gene in silence through his speech. He wished he could believe 100% that the Gene he saw on that tape would never come back. But, he reasoned, Gene was probably hoping that the technology obsessed moron who broke three toes within minutes of stepping through the doors wouldn't come back either.

"I wish Keats had never shown me that bloody tape," he mumbled.

"He's a man with an interesting video collection," said Gene, "but don't let that fool you. He doesn't have any of the blockbusters," he swapped his flask for what was left of his latte, "and the ones he does have are pirated."

Simon raised a smile.

"Just wait until they bring out DVDs," he said.

"What are they? Pesticides?"

"No, that's DDT," said Simon.

"That's a shame," said Gene, "quite fancy spraying Keats with some of that."

This time Simon's smile was genuine and more relaxed. He found Gene a complex character with many facets, and had only just started to see more than the hard, bullish side that he'd shown during his time in 1985. Had the previous ten years softened Gene? Or had he simply adapted to survive?

"So," he began quietly, "how much longer do you see yourself sticking it out?"

Gene turned to him, aghast.

"I'm doing no such thing!" he cried, "what me and Bolly do behind closed doors…"

"_No," _sighed Simon, "I mean in CID. How long do you think you'll stay?"

Gene stared ahead of him, out of the window.

"As long as I'm needed," he said.

"Do you never think about… retiring?"

"What, and leave my team to the Susannahs and Malcolms? Do me a favour. They couldn't hack it."

"Ok," Simon said quietly, "What about Alex?"

Gene slipped him a glance, then turned away.

"Alex," he said quietly, "well, now, I don't think she has plans to stick around."

"She's been here ten years."

"And I'm the jammy sod that's been there to share 'em," said Gene, "but she's got a daughter."

Simon nodded.

"Molly."

"Flesh 'n blood," Gene sighed, "that's the trump card. That's the ace." He turned to his flask again. "One day that girl's gonna call her name too loudly and she'll be home."

Simon began to feel something for Gene and Alex that surprised him. It was sadness. They were living in a most precarious fairytale. A whole world apart from reality, with a job they had passion for, friendship and a love affair - yet at any moment it could all disappear. He couldn't imagine being in that position, much less spending ten years there.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Gene let the taste of his whiskey numb the thought of Alex waking up and leaving his world. It wasn't something he wanted to think about.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said, "just got to remember to live while you can."

Simon nodded and looked away. He took a deep breath.

"What about someone else then," he asked, "Do you think anyone will take over from you? Ever?"

Gene sighed. He didn't know how to answer that question.

"They offered me the superintendent position last year," he said instead.

Simon looked at him, his eyes wide.

"And you didn't take it?"

Gene shook his head and wrinkled his forehead.

"Nah, not really my scene, is it?"

Simon shook his head slowly.

"I don't suppose it is," he said.

"It would defeat my whole purpose for being here," Gene said, "I've got a job to do. I need to be out there. I don't _do_ desks. Not unless DCI Drake is on top of them, anyway."

"Hunt!"

"Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to," Gene gave a half-hearted apology. "No, I'll know when it's time to go. Until then," he added some liquor to his latte, "anyone who wants me out is going to have to drag me by me boots."

And he meant that.

~xXx~

Robin couldn't help staring at Alex as he sat beside her. He'd been sneaking glances for some time when she finally noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Is my head spinning or something?" she asked.

Robin blushed.

"I'm sorry," he said in embarrassment, "I'm so sorry, this is just really weird. I'm… I'm sitting and talking to you like it's the most normal thing in the world, but it's not. You're laying in a hospital bed… I've taken Simon to and from your room so many times. Your friend Evan invited us to a dinner party last week!"

Alex felt a little awkward. Somehow the thought of all these people flocking around her comatose body in bed made her feel uncomfortable.

"How _is_ Evan?" she asked.

"He seems like a really nice man," said Robin, "I think he's lost hope of seeing you wake up, but Molly hasn't."

Just hearing her daughter's name caused Alex's heart to leap.

"_Molly," _she whispered under her breath.

"She knows you'll wake up," Robin said quietly, "Simon's always fighting your corner too. He woke up, so why shouldn't you?"

Alex have a gentle but sorrowful sigh. She hadn't given up on the thought of going home - not for a moment - but sometimes the promise of ever seeing her daughter again felt a million miles away. There would be the occasional whisper, a few words that filtered through her coma, a headline in a newspaper - but that's all there was.

It didn't do to dwell on those thoughts for too long. They were best saved for sitting in her flat alone when she was able to shed a tear in peace, not in the middle of a stakeout. She tried to think of an alternative line of conversation - _the weather, Malcolm's suit, 101 reasons not to go banjo-juggling_, but none of them seemed to catch her attention enough to start one. Aside from Molly there was only one other thing on her mind.

"Robin, Simon mentioned something about some trouble," she said quietly.

"Trouble?"

"With someone I used to know." She paused, "Jim Keats."

In an instant, Robin bristled.

"_Keats?" _he spat, "Oh yeah, we've had 'trouble'."

Alex bit her lip.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"I thought Simon would have told you?"

"I think he wanted to spare me some of the details," Alex said quietly.

Robin leaned back, keeping his eyes focussed on the building inside the yard.

"The man was mad," he said, "he'd woken from a lengthy coma and spent years in rehabilitation. He remembered some parts of what happened here but not your names. He spent years trying to track down you and Simon, maiming various people over that time. Eventually he worked his way around 'til he got a job assessing the mental health of every person who joined or worked with the police force."

Alex hoped she'd misheard or that this was a very, very late April fool.

"How could a man like that be given so much power?"

"On paper all he did was stamp the reports," Robin explained, "he received the assessments from psychologists, counsellors and others and just approved their recommendations. But it meant he tracked down Simon by recognising the description of your world when he saw a counsellor…" He hung his head, "…which was my fault. I made him go."

"You weren't to know they were letting a lunatic run the show," Alex frowned in concern.

Robin shook his head slowly.

"A man that mad should never have that much power," he said, "that's how Eurovision acts get chosen."

Alex took a deep breath, trying to take in the enormity of the situation.

"Keats had information on _every single person _who worked in the police force?" she asked.

Robin nodded.

"Looks that way," he said, "there were 'incidents' with other people who had spent time here and returned. Seems he couldn't remember the details, just enough to know Simon was 'the one that got away', as he put it."

Alex felt nausea bubbling inside of her.

"And I thought he was crazy when he was _here," _she said quietly.

"The guy'd lost the plot," said Robin.

"I think _I'm_ about to lose my breakfast," said Alex. She pushed her hair out of her face.

"He had this whole elaborate set-up to ruin Simon's life," Robin explained, "made me believe he'd cheated on me. Tried to make him lose his job. Made him believe that he'd…" Robin closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't bring himself to complete that sentence. "In the end he tried to kill you both, in your room. Great hospital security, huh?"

"Sounds like the security in hospitals is about on par with the food," Alex remarked, her stomach lurching for a second time in as many minutes.

"CCTV caught the whole thing," Robin continued, "Simon turned into some kind of hero overnight and Keats…" he exhaled loudly. "Well, searching his home just proved what we already knew. That he was a crazy man. Photos of us plastered all over the walls, illegal substances, signed photos of Andrew Ridgeley…"

This time Alex worried she couldn't hold back and opened the window, fearing her cornflakes were about to make a getaway.

"Oh my God!"

"I know," Robin felt sick at the memory too.

A few silent moments passed, both contemplating the horror of the signed picture of Andrew Ridgeley before Alex spoke up quietly.

"So he had the mental health records of every last one of us?" she asked.

"Every one," said Robin, "our backgrounds, personal history, assessments."

"Who put hikm In a position with that much power?"

"Someone very stupid," was all Robin could think.

Everything fell silent again as Alex and Robin both felt lost in their own thoughts and anxieties. Every now and then one of them would procure the binoculars to take a closer look at the building in their sights but aside from that it was a strange and uncomfortably silent time. Eventually Alex spoke.

"Have you any idea at all who left you the photographs?"

Robin shook his head.

"I don't know who would even know I'm here," he said, "I didn't know if it was a wind-up, a trap or the real thing."

"Well," Alex peered out the window, "there's no sign of Nailer yet but no sign of anything unpleasant either. Apart from discussing that Andrew Ridgeley autograph."

They both began to turn a little green again at the memory so silence resumed. Aside from a slight tapping of Alex's fingers against the steering wheel the only other sound to be heard was the twittering of a bird outside. Just when the levels of awkwardness reached a sky-high level there was a crackle of static. Robin glanced at the radio, then up to Alex who hadn't flinched. Hadn't she heard?

"M'am, I think…" he began, but the static cut him off. He looked at the radio again, then back at Alex who was waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"What?"

"Sh-shouldn't we answer that?" frowned Robin, but before Alex had a chance to reply a voice burst through over the radio.

"…_FFFZZZZTTTTTTTTTT …trauma to the head sustained in the accident…"_

With eyes as wide as the moon, Robin turned to Alex.

"Did you hear that?"

"No," Alex frowned, the hairs beginning to stand up on the back of her neck.

"…_induced coma to prevent further damage to the brain and bring down the swelling…"_

"_Shit."_

"What is it, Robin?" Alex's senses jumped to attention, "what can you hear?"

"…_closest thing to family he has…"_

"_That's Paul," _Robin swallowed, "that's Simon's father…"

"…_and now he's the…FFFFFFZZZZTTTTTTTT!"_

"_No!"_ Robin thumped a fist on the dashboard and snatched up the radio, "hello? Hello, are you there?"

_FFFZZZZZZZTTTTTTT__…._

"Robin," Alex began, "what did you hear?"

"There were doctors… and Paul…" Robin tried again, "Hello? Come in! _Come IN!"_

But the only voice that replied was that of a pissed off Gene who'd been trying to demonstrate to Simon the fine art of balancing an empty paper latte cup on his forehead before Robin's urgent plea disturbed his concentration.

"They're out there," he said quietly, "and I'm still alive. I'm still fighting." He stared out the window more determined than ever to find Nailer and put him away, certain this was the way to beat his injuries and fight his way home. He was close… He could feel it. With determination he picked up the binoculars again and tried one more time to spot the man who'd evaded so many attempts at arrest.

"Bingo" he whispered.

~~xxXxx~~

_**Just had to say a brief line about the fact that A2A ended one year ago today. One year ago we were about to find out the truth. One year ago today we said goodbye to Gene and Alex, to Ray, Chris, Shaz and Keats. We lost the thrill of being able to speculate, the anticipation of every new episode, the analysis of every tiny thing.**_

_**Ashes to Ashes (and LOM before it) was the first TV show in a decade to really grab my attention and bring me to obsession levels. It also was the only thing to haul me out of writer's block. A year ago tomorrow will be a year since I began formulating my first A2A fic. **_

_**I miss A2A , I really do. I am forever grateful to the wonderful fanfic writers on FFnet for keeping it alive and giving me my Ashes fix :)**_


	21. Chapter 20: 2003, a CID Odyssey

**Chapter Twenty**

For an hour they tried to ignore it. They went about their business, checking files, compiling papers, taking phone calls, making sure the Miller case was closed and complete. If Gene and Simon had been dealing with a white elephant in the car then Malcolm and Susannah were dealing with a whole herd of them. Finally Susannah couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"It's like when a relationship first begins," she said, her words echoing around the mostly empty CID, "you overlook the flaws because you are so happy. But then as time goes on the flaws begin eating away at what's still good… and you suddenly see things for what they are."

Malcolm looked at her in alarm.

"Are you not happy with me any more?" he asked anxiously, "you're seeing all my flaws? It's the suit, isn't it? I knew the purple was a mistake!"

"No, Malcolm," Susannah sighed, "I was… trying to find an analogy."

To begin with Malcolm thought she said an allergy and began to offer her a tissue but realised his mistake at the last minute and pretended he needed it instead.

"What do you mean then?" he asked, wiping his nose.

"The cracks have started to appear," Susannah said a little sadly, "when we first started working at Fenchurch East I was so taken with the place that I didn't even realise things felt… strange. And even if I did, I was enjoying my work so much that I just glossed over it."

Malcolm understood now.

"Yeah," he sighed, "I think I know what you mean."

"I mean, think about all the people who have just disappeared," Susannah dropped her voice a little lower, "no goodbyes, no transfer request, no… _anything. _One day they've been there and the next…"

"Never to be seen again," Malcolm agreed, nodding sadly. He remembered particularly a chap by the name of DC Paul Miles who he'd befriended closely five years earlier and had seemingly disappeared in the middle of a case. According to Gene he'd had urgent family business and gone away for a whie but had never been in touch since.

"Remember when we started working here?" Susannah continued, "we all just pitched up on the same day. I can't even remember what I did before that."

Malcolm began to feel a lump of anxiety rising in his throat.

"What about Webber?" he asked, "were did _he_ go? One minute he was off to the pub with the Guv and then he transferred out."

"And all the years he spent blaming himself for Simon's death," Susannah shook her head, "now he suddenly reappears, most definitely alive! I didn't even get to practice my first aid on him!"

Malcolm took in a very deep breath. It was the only way to stop himself from keeling over in fear. Something wasn't right. He didn't know how he had never spotted it before. How had he missed all the clues?

"What about Kim?" he asked, "she's round the bend. Always talking to stuff."

"They _all_ have," sighed Susannah, "where _is_ Kim anyway? I saw her heading back out the building when I came in this morning and I haven't seen her since."

"I passed her in the car park," said Malcolm, "she said she needed to pick up something from home."

"She only lives two minutes away, Susannah pointed out, "that was well over an hour ago now." She paused and fingered her desk where four numbers were carved into the surface. They had always been there and she had never asked about them. Gene's reaction to them was strange enough at the best of times. It has taken him months to allow her the use of the desk in the first place, and even when she'd taken charge of it he seemed to feel the need to cover them up every time he passed by.

"What's up, Susie?" Malcolm asked as she realised how quiet she'd fallen.

"Sorry," she said, "I was just thinking about these. The numbers." She pointed to the desk. Malcolm peered over. He had been vaguely aware of them but never really take them in.

"Six-six-two-oh?" he read.

"Why does Hunt go crazy every time he sees them?"

"Who wrote them in the first place?"

"I don't know," Susannah developed a sense of purpose and determination, "but I think it's about time we tried to find out. I think we're owed some answers."

Malcolm looked up in alarm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I think some of the Miller case files are in DCI Hunt's office," she told him pointedly, "I'm going to see if I can find them."

Malcolm's mouth dropped open.

"Are you crazy?" he cried, "he'll kill you if you go in there!"

"Oh relax," Susannah sighed, "it's not like he's rigged up a burglar alarm! I'm only looking for some papers…" she motioned to him. "Come on."

"I'm not going in there!"

"Fine, stay here and keep watch."

Malcolm glanced around. Memories of giant, angry dogs and twinkling stars haunted him.

"I don't want to stay out here on my own," he said quietly.

"Then come _on!"_ Susannah took his arm this time and led him to the door of Genes office.

Suddenly, is all seemed so big. So much to handle. Too difficult to breathe. The other side of that door lay the office they had rarely been permitted to step into. Forbidden ground. The place they knew they should never step. More terrifying was the prospect of finding answers to questions they'd only just found the courage to ask. They both stood for a while, staring at the name on the door, until finally Malcolm made a confession.

"I'm scared witless."

Susannah looked at him nervously.

"That makes two of us," she said quietly, "but we're together. We need to do this."

Malcolm gathered his courage and nodded firmly as though to persuade himself.

"Let's do it," he whispered.

Slowly, they opened the door and saw a space that was wholly Gene's stretching out before them. Cautiously stepping inside, they closed the door behind them and looked around.

"What are we looking for?" asked Malcolm as he scanned his eyes across the items on Gene's desk.

"Something… anything…" Susannah began, cautiously opening the drawers in his desk one at a time, "files… papers on the people who disappeared. Maybe bribe money?"

"Bribe money?" Malcolm almost choked, "Bribery for what? Pushing up whiskey sales?"

"Making people 'vanish'," Susannah said, skimming through Gene's personal belongings, "or helping them to disappear." She lifted a box and peered inside to find a half-eaten crisp sandwich. _"Ew!"_

"You don't really think…"Malcolm began, "Gene _wouldn't _do anything like that."

Susannah hesitated for a moment.

"Honestly? I don't think he would either," she began, "but _logically_… how many people can you see disappear from the team before you ask where they've gone? What about that guy… _Tariq? _We were halfway through a raid on that brothel and he walked into a room and never came out!"

"Maybe he found the one where all the prozzies were hiding?" Malcolm joked, but he remembered the case only too well. He'd been listed as 'Missing' for months afterwards but eventually everyone gave up looking for him. Alex had told them he probably '_found the pace hard going' _and took a sabbatical.

"Oh, this is _useless," _Susannah cried exasperatedly, "I thought there would be something… something other than Guv's novelty condom collection and this questionnaire about whether your suit is affecting the morale of the team…"

"Give me that!" cried Malcolm, snatching a sheet of paper from Susannah.

It was starting to seem like a fruitless search, until Susannah happened upon something shiny, tucked away in the back of a drawer. She pulled it out and examined it nervously. Four numbers. Four familiar numbers.

"Mal, look," she breathed. She handed the item to Malcolm who looked over it carefully, his fingers tracing the metal shaped into a clear 6620. He began to feel a chill of fear running down his spine.

"What the hell _is_ this?" he whispered.

"I don't know, but I'm starting to regret ever having this conversation," Susannah began as a whisper of laughter and chatter filled the air. She looked around frantically but couldn't locate the source. One glance at Malcolm showed that he had heard the same.

"_Shit, Susie, _What the hell…" he edged closer to her and scanned the room, her eyes doing exactly the same, just hoping to find the source of the noises. When neither could see anything that would cause such a strange sound, Susannah made a decision.

"We're spooking ourselves," she said firmly, "put everything back where we found it and let's get out of this office."

"Good plan," said Malcolm. He spun around to put back the suit questionnaire but caught a pile of papers with the edge of his jacket and sent them sprawling. "Oh god, what now?"

"Clumsy oaf," Susannah admonished, bending down to scoop them up when suddenly she froze. Malcolm saw her staring at the file in her hand and knew something wasn't right.

"What? What is it, Susie?"

Susannah held up the file.

"Look," she said quietly, "Kim's papers."

Malcolm looked nervously at the file in her hands. Although there had been several strange members of the team pass through over the years Kim had struck them as the strangest. Her behaviour was so erratic that they could barely work out why she hadn't received her marching orders yet.

"We can't look," he said quickly, "those are private."

Susannah let the file fall open in her hand.

"Whoops," she said innocently.

Malcolm turned his back.

"I'm having no part of this!" he cried, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. "…so, what's in there?"

Susannah rolled her eyes and scanned the information. She flicked through the pages and sighed, shaking her head.

"Nothing," she said, "nothing, nothing, _nothing._ Transferred from Sussex, nothing disciplinary, nothing at all. Just straightforward transfer -" a loose sheet of paper fell out of the back of the file and she watched it glide slowly to the ground. "…papers."

"What's that?" Malcolm frowned, scooping to pick it up. There was a photograph on the top of the sheet of a woman who looked familiar.

"That's… that's _Kim,"_ Susannah said in surprise, "God, she looks so different - she's got long, dark hair!"

"Is she undercover or something?" frowned Malcolm, "could that explain some of her behaviour?"

"I don't know," Susannah sighed as she took the sheet from him, "This… hang on… what the-?"

Malcolm bristled.

"What?"

"But… This doesn't make sense," Susannah frowned, "it says here she's _always_ worked at Fenchurch East. She started work in…" he frown deepened by about three levels. "No, that's got to be a misprint."

"What?" Malcolm could hardly talk now. The look in Susannah's eyes almost took the breath from his lungs. "What is it, Suse?"

Susannah's hand shook just a little as she pointed to a line.

"_Joined CID," _she began, _"two-thousand and three."_

Malcolm looked at her in bewilderment.

"That's got to mean nineteen _ninety_ three," he said.

"Who'd make a mistake that stupid?"

"Well, I don't know but nothing else makes sense."

"Look at this!" cried Susannah. She opened up the rest of the file again and held both sheets side by side. "Two transfer sheets, one person, two totally different sets of information. Same name but different date of birth, different years of service, different dates of employment, different histories."

"Different haircuts," Malcolm pointed out.

Susannah's eyes kept focusing on that strange date - 2003. It made no sense at all.

"Why has she got two identities?" she whispered.

"Has to be an undercover thing," Malcolm tried to reason.

"If it was then she wouldn't keep the same name," Susannah pointed out, "that's about the only thing that has stayed the same."

Before Malcolm could reply the sound of a distant door slamming brought their attention back to the fact that they were snooping in Gene's office and they dropped to the floor to prevent being spotted. Slowly slithering like snakes across the floor, the two of them began to open the door just the tiniest crack and peered through to see a flushed and frantic Kim throw her jacket onto a desk and park her bottom on top of it. They watched in silence as she picked up the phone and dialled a number. An anxious glance passed between them.

"_It's me" _they heard Kim's voice, low and shaky, _"I've changed my mind." _There was a pause as she listened to the voice on the line. _"No, I'm not doing it. I've left the stuff outside your office, I want no part in this."_

"In what?" Malcolm whispered, earning him a clonk on the head from an annoyed Susannah.

"_Shhhhh!"_

"_I know what I said," _Kim's voice grew edgy, _"but things have changed. There's someone else here now… I think he knows how I can get home." _A long pause followed. _"Well you've not done anything so far! I've been busting a gut to give you what you asked and you've given me nothing in return! You've been stringing me along all this time, and tried to turn me into some kind of traitor. Well listen, I know they're not a bunch of saints… Hunt's from the dark ages and Malcolm's suit is accountable for ninety-five percent of sick days in CID…"_

Malcolm scowled.

"Enough about the suit," he mouthed.

"…_but they've been OK. They don't deserve this. I'm not doing it." _She paused for a long time. _"Enough - I'm sick of your talk. You don't want to help me. Find another lackey to do your dirty work."_

With that she slammed down the receiver and sprung to her feet, running her hands through her cropped hair as though trying to relieve the anger and tension that had built up within her. She paced up and down for a moment before grabbing her jacket, checking she has her cigarettes in the pocket and leaving the office again.

When they were absolutely certain the coast was clear, Malcolm and Susannah opened the door properly and tiptoed out from their secret investigation. For a while, neither knew what to say. Eons passed as they stared at each other, full of words they couldn't bring themselves to express. After a long time, Susannah spoke up quietly.

"So Kim's got a secret," she whispered.

"Sounds like a bigger one than we realised," Malcolm added quietly.

Susannah bit her lip and took a deep breath.

"If she's doing anything to put the department in jeopardy we need to find out about it."

"Yeah, but how?"

"Maybe we should follow her?"

Malcolm closed his eyes.

"Oh, _no," _he groaned, "I'm not very good at that."

"Mal, we're detectives!" cried Susannah, "that's what we do!"

"Badly, in my case," Malcolm commented.

Susannah peered out of the window. She could see Kim marching across the car park, looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Well we can't do _nothing," _said Susannah, "come on."

She grabbed her coat and took Malcolm by the sleeve, pulling him toward the door. Suddenly she began to feel as though a spell had been broken, like she'd been hypnotised for years and the trance was starting to lift. All traces of hangover were forgotten as they set off in pursuit of Kim, and with her the truth behind the phone call and strange paperwork. The thought of taking that step shook them both to the core; each knowing that whatever they were about to find would be bigger than they had been able to picture so far, but equally both knowing it had to be done.

It was time to take the lid off the world that had started to feel like a dream, no matter how daunting the truth.

_**~~xxXxx~~**_

_**One year ago today I took a fateful walk to buy some fish and chips. During the walk there, the time waiting for the food and the walk back I divised the whole of the first chapter of my first A2A fic, Out of the Window, which was supposed to be a one-shot but I couldn't leave it alone. So that means one year ago tomorrow I conquered years of writers' block. Hoorah! I will be recreating the walk tonight to celebrate!**_

_**Incidentally, should I be worried that I was served in a shop this afternoon who's name badge said 'Shaz' and my daughter has spent the afternoon drawing stars?**_


	22. Chapter 21: Nicked, Nailed & Half Naked

**Chapter Twenty One**

"There! See, that's him. That's Nailer."

Alex took the binoculars from Robin and peered through the into a window.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"He had a few more grey hairs when I last saw him," Robin told her, "but that's him."

Alex watched curiously as the figure stood flipping through a large wad of money, folded it and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then fiddled with his keys.

"Damn, looks like he might be getting ready to leave," she cursed, snatching the radio, "Guv? Come in."

A moment of silence then a loud crackle was heard before Gene's voice came through.

"_With you, Bols."_

"We have visual confirmation of Nailer on premises."

A short silence.

"_You what?"_

Alex rolled her eyes.

"I mean we can see him in the building!" She explained, "Guv, listen, he looks like he's getting ready to leave.."

"_Block yer exit," _said Gene, "we've got this side covered. Calling back-up now."

Robin tapped his fingers anxiously against the dashboard as Alex started the car and moved it around to block the gateway.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said.

"Back up will be here any moment," said Alex.

As they stared, Nailer froze on the spot. The sight of Alex's car caught his eye and brought his actions to a halt. For one horrible moment Robin felt certain the two of them had made eye contact. It was almost as horrifying ads remembering the Andrew Ridgeley autograph.

"_Alex," _he hissed, "I think he's seen us."

"Right then." Alex reached to check her gun was ready for action, "time to bring out the nicking and nailing jokes."

Robin couldn't reply. His eyes were fixed on the building before them. He didn't know what it was but something about it bothered him. There was something strange… something that didn't seem right about it. He heard Alex saying his name, expecting him to prepare for the imminent raid but as he watched something stirred him his memory.

"Oh my _god," _he whispered.

"What?" Alex asked nervously.

Robin's eyes were drawn to a large panel on the wall of the building. It looked familiar. All too familiar.

"That panel," he whispered, "he couldn't… not _again.."_

"What?" Alex repeated, a little more insistently.

Robin swallowed. His eyes focused on the frozen Nailer at the window for a second then his panic rose as their suspect made a sudden dash out of their view.

"Oh hell, it's the fake panel again!"

"What?"

"A fake _panel!"_

"_What _fake panel?" Alex cried.

"On the wall!"

"I feel like I'm _talking_ to one! What do you mean?"

Robin gave a sigh of exasperation and grabbed the radio.

"Simon!" he cried, "he's got another phoney panel!"

_Kkkkkzzzzzzttttttt_

"_He's got a what?"_

"Like back home!" cried Robin, "on the wall! He's going to drive right through it again."

~xXx~

Beside Gene, a shocked Simon's eyes opened wide.

"Rob, are you sure?" he asked.

"Oi, who said you could take charge of that radio?" Gene asked crossly.

"_It's close to our exit,"_ said Robin, _"If he bursts through that on a motorbike again…"_

"If he _what?"_ Gene couldn't believe his ears, "who is he? James Bond with a powder habit?"

"Right," Simon felt his heart rate increase as his instincts leapt into action. As the engine ticked over he leaned across Hunt, grabbed the steering wheel and pressed his foot to the accelerator.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" cried Gene, "get off me car! And get your bony elbow out me ribs!"

"All in a good cause," Simon mumbled through gritted teeth, steering the car into the grounds of the yard and toward the building.

"_Bolly!" _Gene barked as he grabbed the radio, "I've been hijacked!"

~xXx~

Alex gulped as Robin's torso squashed her to the driver's seat, leaning across her to take command of the vehicle.

"_Makes two of us!" _she gasped.

To her horror Robin drove into the grounds of the yard and pulled around sharply in front of the strange panel on the side of the building.

"He's got this bike," Robin began, "and -"

That was as far as he got before a large car burst through the panel, sending plywood in every direction, striking the side of Alex's car and sending them spinning.

"_Bike?"_ screamed Alex, "what kind of bikes have _you_ seen?"

Nailer's car horn jammed, screaming out its tuneless honking melody through the grounds. The sight of Simon followed by a confused Gene running towards the tangle of car and plywood caught their attention, along with the sight of Nailer forcing the door of his car open to make his getaway.

"Come on!" cried Robin, tumbling out of his side of the car. Try as she might, Alex couldn't get her door to open, the metal jammed and twisted from the impact. With a few grumbles of annoyance she crawled across the passenger side, flinching as pain radiated through one arm, and followed Robin out of the door.

Nailer glanced from one side to the other. To his right, two men with guns; one tall and lanky but goddamn furious, the other shorter, stronger and goddamn bewildered. To his left were a PC with a rather weedy collapsible baton and a woman with a gun and an injured arm. He knew which of those options he fancied his chances most against so he tried to make his way towards the left hand exit, grabbing Robin as he attempted a baton-swing and making to throw him to the floor but Robin was stronger than he looked and stayed on his feet.

Nailer changed direction quickly to attempt to evade capture as Alex aimed her gun in his direction but the pain in her arm brought it back down by her side, followed by a reel of expletives. By now a determined Simon had caught up to Robin, leaving a slightly breathless Gene behind them and the pair of young men raced off in pursuit of Nailer.

Just at the right moment, back-up arrived and pulled up outside the exit, leaving Nailer one last option - technically known as 'legging it over the fence'. He was fit, fast and fancied his chances but halfway up he found two pairs of hands grabbing at him. A cold breeze blew around his legs as he heard someone cry, _"Shit, Si, you pulled his pants down!"_

The next thing he knew he'd lost his grasp on the rough wooden fence and tumbled to the floor, landing with a hard thump on the dusty drive. It knocked the air out of him and he gasped as a gun found itself aimed at the side of his head.

With a sly but sheepish grin, Nailer faced the triumphant pair.

"Would… either of you be interested in a large backhander?" he tried.

~xXx~

Gene and Alex looked on, slightly confused and taken aback by the last few moments. Gene had reached Alex to find her cradling her arm and decided to leave the 2010 interlopers to it.

"What you done there, Bols?" he asked, anxious about her welfare.

"Bloody Nailer," Alex mumbled, "and his stupid fake wall."

Gene gingerly laid a hand on her arm, hoping he didn't hurt her further, and looked at her seriously.

"You OK?"

"I will be," she flinched, turning to see the commotion as Simon abandoned his gun and decided to sit on Nailer instead.

Gene sighed exasperatedly.

"This is the future, is it?" he asked, "not so much armed bastards as armed nerds."

"Looks like they got a result," Alex commented.

Gene rubbed his temples.

"Why have they taken his pants off?" he frowned, "don't tell me they're going to bugger a confession out of him."

"Gene!"

"Come on, you've got to let me have _one _dig," Gene sighed, "I've been on my best behaviour all day!"

The two of them walked towards the trouserless Nailer as Terry and Poirot jogged half-heartedly from the other direction, pointing and laughing.

"And _that's_ for my dog!" they heard Robin cry, jamming a foot in Nailer's side.

"Robin! You can't do that!" Simon cried aghast.

"Do what?" Gene asked innocently, "I didn't see anything, did you Bolly?"

"I was too busy laughing at the Fireman Sam underpants," Alex commented.

Poirot and Terry pulled Nailer to his feet and dragged him towards their vehicle, his trousers still pooled around his ankles, leaving a slightly grudging Gene to talk to Simon and Robin.

"Well… hard to know what to say. You put your lives in danger," he began, "you put _our_ lives in danger. You broke every rule you claim to be following to the letter, and you hijacked my bloody car." He cleared his throat. "Good work, gentlemen."

Simon and Robin exchanged a glance.

"Uh… thank you," Robin said.

Alex looked at Robin curiously.

"How did you know about the fake panel in the wall?" she asked.

"It… it was a case of history repeating itself," Robin explained, "or… well, history that hasn't _happened_ yet repeating itself." He paused and turned to Simon. "What's the opposite of history repeating itself?"

"History not repeating itself?" frowned Simon.

"No! I mean, when something that hasn't happened yet happens in the past before it happens in the future."

"The future repeating itself?

"Wouldn't that be when something that happens in the future happens again even _further_ in the future?" 

Gene thrust his hands to his head.

"Someone get me out of here, _please!"_ he cried, "I can feel the geek virus slowly penetrating my brain!"

Simon glanced at Alex.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

Alex rubbed her arm a little.

"Nothing a prosecution won't fix," she said.

"Or a trip to hospital," said Robin.

"No thank you," Alex pulled a face, "where is my time better spent - at the station, interrogating Nailer or in casualty for eight hours sitting next to a boy with a pan stuck on his head?" she pointed a finger at her lip as though mockingly thinking about the question "Oh, I wonder…."

Gene nodded towards his car.

"Well either way, you won't be driving," he said, "let's get you back to CID."

Alex nodded slowly.

"OK," she sighed.

Gene gave a smirk.

"And anyway," he began, "Kite knows first aid…"

A horrified expression spread across Alex's face.

"Actually, " she began, "those eight hours in Casualty are beginning to sound more appealing all the time…"

Simon laughed.

"Anyone got a spare saucepan?" he asked.

**~~xxXxx~~**

_**And to complete the trilogy of interesting days, one year ago today I busted the ass of my writer's block! I sat down at about 10 in the morning to start writing my first A2A fic and pushed through until it was complete. It was meant to be a one-shot but that kind of changed… **_

_**Writers block sucks - yah boo sucks and so there! Good riddance, foul beast!**_


	23. Chapter 22: Are We Nearly There Yet?

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"Why do I have to sit in the back?"

Gene was beginning to wish that he'd sent Alex and Robin away with the back-up and taken Nailer himself.

"Because Shoebury got in the front, he said.

"I always sit in the front!"

"Then you should have got _in_ the front!"

"I couldn't open the door, my arm…"

"You opened the back door OK!"

"I can swap," Simon volunteered.

"I'm not stopping the car 'til we get to Latte Land."

"God, Gene, not another one!"

"It's thirsty work, all this surveillance."

"Can I get a tea?" piped up Robin.

"Not with me there, I'll lose all me credibility!"

"Are we going the right way?" Simon asked, "I don't remember seeing that big ceramic cow on the way here."

"I'm taking a shortcut."

"A shortcut to getting lost!"

"Gene, I really think I need to sit in the front."

"I've told you before, Drakey, Gene Hunt does not play I-Spy!"

"I don't want to play I Spy! I'm just feeling a bit queasy."

"What's the matter? Too many _units_ last night?"

"I only had a couple of glasses."

"I suppose you're going to blame my driving now."

"No, actually it was a conversation involving an unpleasant autograph!"

"Uh, yeah, my fault," Robin piped up "I was telling her about that Andrew Ridgeley…"

"_Stop the car!"_ cried Simon, "I'm going to throw up!"

To Gene's horror, one glance in Simon's direction and the interesting green hue of his skin showed he wasn't joking.

"Jesus! How bad _is_ this autograph?"

"You'd definitely better stop the car," said Robin.

"Not you too!"

"It's just all coming back to us…"

"Please stop talking about it!" begged Alex.

"You weren't even _there!_" Robin pointed out.

"You paint a vivid picture!"

"Please don't mention pictures!" cried Simon.

There was a squeal of tyres as Gene put his brakes to the test and came to a sudden stop.

"_Right!"_ he cried, "That's enough squabbling from the nursery class! Shoe-boy, sod off into the back. Bolly, up here with me. Anyone mentions the 'A' word again and they're walking back. Got it?"

Three heads nodded in silence as Simon and Alex left the car momentarily to swap seats. A more subdued and mature journey took place this time around, none of them completely certain why they'd behaved like children and all hoping that the previous few minutes could be swept under the carpet and blamed on the Fireman Sam underpants they had witnessed at Nailer's arrest.

In the back of the car, Robin turned to Simon.

"I had another message, Si," he said quietly.

Simon looked at him and caught a twinkle of hope in his eye.

"Rob, that's brilliant," he smiled, "what happened? What did you hear?"

"Voices on the radio in Alex's car," Robin told him quietly, "first there were doctors, and then I'm sure it was your father."

"_Dad?" _Simon hadn't been expecting to hear that. For a second he felt as though the breath had been taken from his body. He felt a terrible pang of sadness, for the first time thinking about his family so far away. He'd already put them through hell the last time his life had been hanging in the balance. Remembering his father, sisters and Robin sitting by his bedside for hours on end, just hoping he would make it. "W-what did he say?"

"He said… I think he said your family were the closest thing to being _my_ family," Robin whispered, his voice wavering just a little.

Simon gave him a crooked smile.

"They _are _your family, Rob," he whispered. He reached toward Robin's hand and clasped his own fingers around it. He felt a conflict stirring inside him - torn between the warm feeling he gained from knowing his dad thought of Robin so fondly and the pain striking him in the heart from knowing that it was Robin and not him who'd heard from his father. He began to feel alone and isolated for the first time since they arrived in 1995. Although he knew many of the people in CID and he had Robin by his side he longed to hear something from home.

"That's it now," Robin said, "We've caught Nailer. Surely that's what we had to do. We can go home now, right?"

"I don't know, Rob," Simon wished he had that answer, "but it's got to have made a difference. Things have got to be moving in the right direction. We're going to get home, I swear it."

Leaning back in the seat and feeling the comfort of Simon's hand around his own, Robin began to feel a little lighter of heart. Being in 1995 still brought him shivers of terror and nightmares lurked around every corner but beating Nailer brought Robin the sense of certainty that he was homeward bound.

~xXx~

"Ae you OK, Little Miss Bollinger Knickers?" Gene asked.

Alex leaned against her good arm, her elbow resting on the passenger window and her eyes fixed straight ahead.

"I'm fine, Gene," she said quietly.

"You don't look fine to me," he began, "yer skin is the same colour as that weedy lettuce they're always sticking in me sandwiches in the canteen."

Alex turned to Gene with a tiny smile.

"I'm fine, honestly."

Gene shook his head slightly.

"I'm worried about you, Bols," he said, "you're not yourself today. What was it? Dodgy box of cornflakes this morning?"

Alex stared ahead of her, watching buildings and trees coming closer and closer.

"I used to feel strange all the time," she said quietly.

"_Feel_ strange?" Gene began, "You _are_ bloody strange, woman!"

Alex shook her head.

"When I first arrived," she whispered, "I used to feel so strange sometimes. Dizzy spells, nausea, headaches, flashbacks, hallucinations… I haven't felt that for years. I haven't felt _any_ of that for years."

Gene's eyes darted across to her.

"What are you saying?"

Alex breathed in and out a couple of times, unsure of her answer. She wished she knew.

"Something's not right, Gene," she whispered, "I don't know what it is. But there's something."

A slight air of worry began to filter through Gene's veins. He swallowed and ran his tongue across his lips nervously. He remembered the way Alex used to behave; some of the strange physical symptoms her situation had manifested themselves as, After finding out about the nature of his world they seemed to cease and for the last ten years she had barely had so much as a headache. The more he thought about it, suddenly Gene began to feel very anxious indeed.

"You'd better not be thinking about passing out in me Fiat," he said.

Alex looked at him softly. His words were his way of covering up his own anxieties about her strange feelings and she knew it. She'd spent too long with him now. There was no fooling her, nor vice versa.

"If I do, I promise not to collapse over your latte holder," she said with a smile.

Gene kept his eyes on the road, not wanting to consider any of the possibilities thrown up by her words. He remembered the fear he'd felt at the message she received across the headlines of a newspaper a few weeks earlier, telling of how her responses had been getting stronger back in her own time. He thought about the possibility of her physical symptoms filtering through to her the closer she came to choosing life over death. On the flip side, he thought about her sensitivity to certain dark energies and those who had tried to damage them before.

He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts plaguing him and cleared his throat.

"How's that arm?"

Alex gave a deep sigh and tried to move it a little.

"I don't think I'm about to lose it to gangrene," she joked, "but I won't be doing your gear changes for a while either."

"That's a shame, I always liked the way you -"

"If you say 'handled your gear stick' then I may have to swap seats with Simon again!" Alex admonished, but there was a cheeky smile behind it.

This time Gene couldn't resist the tiniest of smiles back. There was his Bolly. That was her spirit. He needed a distraction from the dark thoughts floating around and switched on the radio where _Missing_ by _Everything But The Girl_ was beginning.

"…_I step off the train _

_I'm walkin' down your street again _

_And pass your door _

_But you don't live there anymore_

_It's years since you've been there _

_And now you've disappeared somewhere _

_Like outer space_

_You've found some better place…"_

"Bloody miserable song," Gene mumbled

"…_And I miss you _

_Like the deserts miss the rain_

_And I miss you_

_Like the deserts miss the rain…"_

"I remember this song," Robin commented quietly in the back.

"…_Could you be dead? _

_You always were two steps ahead …"_

"That's enough of that bollocks," Gene said crossly, shutting off the radio and inviting a silent end to their journey back.

There were some times when the radio really knew just how to really piss him off.

_**~xXx~**_

_**Sorry about the short chapter, the next one is a long and pivotal chapter for everyone so I wanted to separate this bit out. Huge thank yous to everyone who is reading, favouriting, alerting and reviewing this fic. I'm really glad that you're enjoying it so far and I really appreciate your comments and support. I worked out there's about 16 chapters still to go - sorry it's turned into a monster! x**_


	24. Chapter 23: Seven People, One Word

**Chapter Twenty Three**

A few lattes later, Gene and the others arrived back in CID to find the office more or less abandoned. Aside from PC Thomas Roberts who'd wandered back to CID in the hope that Gene had changed his mind and decided to whisk him into his team on the basis of a 30 second meeting there was no one around. Between star-fuelled panic and Nailer-interrogations the office was empty.

"_If I catch you lurking in my domain again then you'll be eating that baton for lunch!" _Gene chased Thomas away, hoping he'd get the message this time.

Alex looked around as she cradled her arm.

"Where has everyone gone?" she wondered.

"Probably for a liquid lunch," Gene commented.

They knew that Terry and Poirot were staying on the Nailer case, escorting uniform to the premises to search for evidence of his dealings but that still left Malcolm, Susannah and Kim unaccounted for.

"Si, do you mind if I get lunch?" Robin asked tiredly, "I'm feeling a bit spaced out. Haven't had much to eat since I arrived here."

Simon sat down on a desk and gave a tired smile.

"Go ahead," he said, "I'll join you in a bit. The canteen is on the second floor. It's easy enough to find. Just follow the signs… and the stench."

Robin looked a little nervous.

"O-_kay," _he said as he set off.

"And don't try the sandwiches!" Simon called after him.

Gene approached Alex as she gently sat down at Susannah's desk, looking a little pale.

"You feeling any better, Bolly?" he asked her.

"Maybe a little," Alex sighed, "maybe it _was_ your driving after all."

"_Watch it," _Gene warned. He caught sight of the numbers engraved into the wood of the desk beside him and covered them up hastily with a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. "I still reckon someone should look at that arm."

"Well it looks like it won't be Susannah and her first aid kit," said Alex, "were _is_ she?"

"Probably gone to give Miller the kiss of life," said Gene. He paused. "Speaking of which, Do you, erm... think that'll help yer arm?"

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"Got to be worth a try," she said.

~xXx~

Simon sat on Malcolm 's desk, the cable remote in his hand aimed squarely at the TV. He flipped through one channel after another, scanning each one for anything important.

"Come _on," _he muttered to himself, "My turn now."

He skipped through the Weather Channel, The Children's Channel, The Box and The Landscape channel but nothing came through. Not a hiss, not a whisper, nothing. Finally he put on the channel that had appeared to him the day before. "Come on Live TV, don't fail me now," he whispered.

On screen, Rhodri Williams marched up and down as the Spanish Archer in full costume, a large polystyrene elbow ready to storm the stage and clear out any acts that were not up to scratch. Simon waited for a few minutes, watching the first act getting the _'El Bow' _and Pedro Paella preparing to introduce the next one with a song, but alas no message came forth.

"No, no, _no!" _Simon cried, giving the TV a hard slap.

"_Oi!" _Gene cried, "I know that channel's a load of bollocks but there's no need to beat seven shades of crap out the telly!"

Simon glanced around to see Hunt looking annoyed

"Sorry," he said, slightly ashamed.

Gene approached with a disapproving expression and looked at the screen.

"Who's this ponce?" he asked.

Simon sighed.

"Believe it or not he's going to be one of the main anchors on Sky Sports ten years from now," he said. His eyes gained a slightly glazed expression and he almost made a comment along the lines of still getting a funny feeling at the sight of him in his green tights after all those years but thought better of it.

"At least you won't see 'is legs under the desk then," Gene frowned and decided it was best to leave Simon to it before the channel sapped any of his brain cells.

Onscreen, the Spanish Archer prepared for the next act.

_"If you__'re good, and if you're class, where do I shove my arrows?"_

_"Gracias!" _yelled the audience.

Despite himself, Simon was drawn into watching, remembering yet more reasons why he loved 95 the first time around. With a smile he waited for Pedro Paella's introduction song. Holding his inflatable guitar, Pedro listened to the flamenco music start up then warbled out his introduction.

"_Simon is waiting for a message…"_

Simon sat up abruptly, his attention caught.

"Yes?" he gasped, leaning towards the screen.

"_But he'll be left just feeling flat…_

_Cos we don't have a message for him…_

_And we all think he is a…"_

"_HEY!" _Simon cried angrily, leaping up and coming dangerously close to putting a boot through the TV screen.

The audience roared with laughter as the Spanish Archer drew back his arrow and aimed it at the large, polystyrene item hanging over the stage.

"_Sorry, Simon, you're getting the El-Bow!" _he beamed, firing off his arrow and sending the giant limb crashing back and forth across the stage.

"_RIGHT! _That's enough!" Simon attempted to punch the Spanish Archer, tights or no tights, but succeeded only in bruising his knuckles on the screen and jumped around the office, clutching them in pain for a few moments. When the throbbing calmed down a little and he regained a little self-control he glanced up see a novelty elephant-eating act on the TV as though nothing had ever happened. He scowled and switched the television off with extreme prejudice. _"Stupid channel," _he mumbled, "never liked the damn thing anyway."

Before Gene could admonish him for the second time, Kim arrived back in the office looking haggard and empty. Her eyes were dark and her appearance drawn. There were signs she might have been crying but nothing blatant. Gene looked up and folded his arms.

"Blimey, made it in before home time, congratulations Metal Mickey!"

Kim didn't look up.

"Sorry, Guv," she said quietly, "had something urgent to deal with. I'll work late tonight."

Gene hadn't expected the apology or attempt at making up for he lack attendance. He seemed taken aback by it.

"Better make that tomorrow," he said, "going to have a celebration tonight."

"Don't really feel like celebrating," Kim said quietly. She noticed Alex cradling her arm and looked a little worried. "What happened M'am? Are you OK?"

"Oh, we caught Nailer" Alex explained, "but he had an interesting way of escaping and I came off worst." She paused and smirked, "Apart from his pride…"

"Where's DI Kite?" asked Kim, "she knows first aid."

Alex looked a little sheepish. Her relief at finding Susannah wasn't there had been immense on their return to the office.

"I'll survive without it," she said.

A few moments later the young first aid expert herself arrived with her Jarvis Cocker look-alike fiancé in tow. Both looked and felt somewhat awkward and nervous. Their pursuit of Kim, and with it the truth, had been a less than fruitful experience. Although they had been successful in their surveillance of her in terms of remaining undiscovered, watching her sitting and smoking for an hour didn't exactly help them fill in the blanks. Neither did her trip to the piercing studio.

Malcolm waddled in awkwardly, his legs remaining about a foot apart at all times.

"_You didn't have to get it pierced!" _Susannah hissed to him.

"I didn't want to look too suspicious, hanging around!" Malcolm protested, attempting to sit down and then thinking better of it, "I thought I was doing a good job of going undercover!"

"_Cover-it-up, _more like," hissed Susannah. She felt Gene's eyes boring into her and slowly looked up to find his cross glare settling on herself and Malcolm.

"Where have you been, DI Kite?" he demanded.

"We were finishing the Miller paperwork like you asked," she said.

"Digging him up were you?" Gene asked, "waiting for him to be reincarnated so he could tell you who murdered him?"

"We had a few loose ends to tie up," said Susannah.

Gene glanced at Malcolm.

"Why's _he_ walking like Sonic the Hedgehog getting a bed of spikes up his arse?"

Susannah bit her lip.

"Fell on a piercing needle," was all she would say.

They both felt relieved as Gene decided to drop the matter before he found out something he really didn't want to know. They huddled together keeping a watchful eye on the Guv as they talked.

"Bloody great waste of time that was," Malcolm moaned, "two hours and all we leaned was that Kim needs to cut down on the smoking and has an exceptionally high pain threshold."

"We need to try a different tactic," Susannah agreed, "following her got us nowhere. Maybe we should try tapping her phone or searching her home."

"I think that's going a bit far," frowned Malcolm.

Susannah nodded slowly. He was right, she agreed. They both knew something was very wrong but they needed to find a smarter way to work it out.

"Do you have any ideas?" Susannah asked.

Malcolm shook his head.

"Only to go and soak my nether region in soothing salty water," he moaned.

Susannah eyed Kim cautiously out of the corner of her eye. Her whole demeanour was darker and more anxious than she'd seen before. Kim's time at Fenchurch had been bizarre, first confused and crazed in her actions, then frantic when a case involving a runaway came up, then somehow more relaxed and at peace until a kind of anxious and depressed state had taken over again recently.

"I just want to know who she was talking to on the phone," she said quietly, "if we could just find out that much then maybe we can find out what that conversation was about. Whatever is going on, we need to know." She caught a glimpse of Gene. "Whatever it is, it involves _him."_

"I don't feel safe here any more," Malcolm admitted, "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Susannah felt the same way but didn't want to enter into a spiral of paranoia so she kept it to herself. She laid her hand gently on Malcolm's arm and looked him in the eye.

"We'll be fine," she told him firmly, "we will be _absolutely fine."_

She could see that, although he was scared, he'd taken a tiny drop of reassurance from her words. That made her smile.

She only wished she believed it herself.

~xXx~

Robin arrived back into the office looking annoyed.

"Rob, what's wrong?" frowned Simon, "I thought you were going to get something to eat."

"I _was, _until some woman with a big backside chased me away with a colander!" Robin pouted.

Alex raised her good hand.

"Happened to us all," she said.

Susannah glanced over.

"Yeah, me too," she said quietly.

"I've had more colander issues than you've had hot dinners," said Malcolm, _"…literally _by the sound of it."

Silence fell as all eyes turned to Gene. He frowned.

"I'm not making any bloody colander confessions!" he scolded, "get back to work before I buy me own colander to deal with all of you!"

Turning on his heels he strode to the door of his office which opened wide before him. He stepped through to his familiar domain. Here he was safe from the madness outside. Safe from colander issues, wandering team members and crappy cable stations. Here he was still the reigning king; the surveyor of his domain. Here, he was _home._

A sheet of paper caught his eye on the floor. Frowning, he scooped down to pick it up and found more papers lying nearby. He stared at them, frozen to the spot. A cold chill ran down his spine and infiltrated his stomach, pushing nausea up inside of him. For a moment he wasn't sure what to do. Something wasn't right.

Had they fallen? Had a freak breeze taken them from their previous location? He looked up and couldn't imagine where they had fallen from or how.

As he began to rise, papers in hand, he caught a glimpse of something else that seemed amiss. One of his drawers was open halfway. He drew back to his full height and took a step towards it. Taking a deep breath, he reached out, closed his fingers around the handle and slowly pulled it open all the way. A glistening of metal came from within. Four numbers stared up at him; taunting him, goading him into action.

_6620._

It hit him like a knife in the guts.

He flinched as a physical shockwave rode through his body from the memories of the last time it had surfaced. Flashes of darkness, evil and anguish struck him one after another. He reached into the drawer and slowly closed his hand around the shiny little nightmare. Holding it in his fist, he strode towards the door and stared out through the glass, his eyes scanning the room and every figure within it.

Who had done it? Who had stepped into his sacred ground? Who had set eyes upon the four little digits that almost brought his world to its knees once before? Who had dared to set foot in his office, much less seek to apprehend his personal possessions?

His gaze travelled from left to right - Bolly holding her arm and staring at some photographs of Nailer's hideout; Kim looking so lost and empty that she damn near disappeared into her own sadness; Susannah and Malcolm deep in conversation at the exclusion of everyone and everything else in the world; Robin whose eyes were taking in the strange surroundings and wishing he would suddenly find himself elsewhere; and Simon whose stare repeatedly returned to the TV screen, hoping to hear word from his own world to give him strength and hope.

"_Which one of you bastards was it?" _he whispered to himself. He felt his heart gathering speed the more he thought about it. The shiny metal object in his hand felt as though it was on fire, burning him and scalding him with its unequivocal power.

Slipping it into his pocket, the door before him opened and he stepped back into the grounds of his kingdom.

"_Listen up," _he began, his voice deep and strong, "today two young men foiled the biggest up and coming drug dealer in London. He's a baron in the making and has spent two years giving us the run-around. Thanks to DCI Shoebury and," he paused for a moment to glance at Robin, _"DC Robin Thomas,"_ he said pointedly, "Nick Nailer has been-"

"Ooh! Can I say it?" Simon interrupted.

Gene shot him down with a glare.

"_Nailed,"_ he concluded.

Simon scowled.

"_Damn," _he cursed, "I wanted to get the first joke."

"More than that, they brought him in with his pants around his ankles," Gene continued, "and for that they get the greatest reward known in the force." He paused. "A round bought by the Gene Genie himself. Tonight, we celebrate. Bask Karaoke Bar. I expect to see you all there."

As he turned and strode back into his office he left a sea of slightly confused faces behind him. Some looked a little guilty, others a tad anxious, some just plain bewildered. Robin turned to Simon in shock.

"Did I just get a promotion?" he asked.

Simon's eyes were bathed in just as much surprise.

"Did Hunt just offer to buy a _round?"_

Alex glanced over her shoulder and caught Gene staring out of his office through the glass. Something definitely wasn't right, she thought to herself. Getting to her feet, she slowly slipped away to find out from Gene what had caused the dark emotions across his face and the shaken tone to the end of his speech.

~xXx~

"_He knows," _Malcolm hissed.

Susannah glanced up.

"What do you mean?"

"He knows we went in his office" Malcolm whispered, "I can see it on his face. We didn't tidy properly…. Oh God, Susie, we were so busy following…"

"_Shhhhhhh!_

Malcolm dropped his voice a little.

"…So busy worrying about Kim's phone call that we didn't make sure everything was tidy. There might have been stuff on the floor or things we moved…"

"Well it's too late to worry about that now," hissed Susannah, "besides, he won't know it was us. It could have been anyone. Kim was here, DCI Drake or Simon could have been in there looking for something."

Malcolm shook his head slowly.

"No, he knows," he said quietly.

Susannah sighed.

"We'll say we were looking for parts of the paperwork," she said, "it'll be fine, Mal, I promise. I don't _care_ if Hunt knows we went in his office - if he tries to make a scene about it we'll know for _sure_ he's got something to hide." she paused and watched Kim grabbing her coat, then heading off to smoke another few minutes off the end of her life. "It's _her_ I'm worried about. Her and whoever took that phone call."

"Well we haven't done a great job in finding out who that was so far," said Malcolm.

"We'll find a way," Susannah promised.

Malcolm looked down a little nervously, The whole situation had him terribly on edge, so much so he felt the call of the lavatory.

"I'm no good with nerves," he said apologetically, excusing himself.

Susannah sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Great profession to be in, Malcolm," she commented.

For a moment she began to worry that Malcolm was right. What if they never found out who Kim was talking to? What if her strange behaviour was leading to a dangerous situation and they were the only ones who knew enough to stop her but couldn't because they just weren't good enough? She shook her head to pull herself from the negative mindset and gave herself a quick talking to.

_Think, Susannah. Come on, think._

Her eyes scanned the office as her mind whirred around. She wished for a moment she hadn't knocked back so many drinks the night before - she was sure her blood was still about 40% proof. There had to be something… some way to find out… some way to know.

Suddenly, there is was. The answer to her search.

"_Last number redial," _she whispered.

~xXx~

"Gene?"

Gene heard Alex the room just as he turned his back to seek out the whiskey bottle. Somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to meet her gaze.

"Medicinal drink for yer arm?" he asked.

Alex stepped a little closer, her heels echoing against the floor.

"Please," she said quietly.

Gene busied himself in the office - finding glasses, pouring drinks, shuffling papers, never once meeting her eyes. He couldn't bear to. There was a very dark piece of history they shared together; one bound by the numbers 6620. It wasn't a time he wanted to resurrect now.

"Get that down you," he said quietly, "get that arm fighting fit in time to hold the microphone tonight. I've got big plans to serenade you with _Boombastic."_

Alex took her glass and sipped from it.

"Funny," she began quietly, "I was planning to sing _I'll be There For You.". _she placed her good hand on his arm. Finally he glanced around and briefly caught her eye. There was something in hey gaze that made it very difficult not to talk to her.

"Maybe we should skip 'em both," he began quietly, "and make it _Never Forget."_ He saw Alex looking a little blankly at him so in reply he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the shiny, metal numbers that had brought fear to his day.

Involuntarily, Alex gasped and put her hand to her mouth. It had been years since her eyes had last settled upon that object and the sight of it turned her stomach over and over like a washing machine on a spin cycle. The queasy feelings she'd had all morning came back with full force and finally began to make sense.

"What is it, Gene?" she whispered, "why have you got that in your pocket?"

This time, Gene met her gaze fully. No holding back.

"Someone came in here, Bolly," he told her, "I don't know who, why or when but while we were gone me secrets found their way out.

Alex's hand flew to her mouth again.

"What happened?" she whispered.

Gene opened a drawer and slipped the unwanted object away inside it. Out of sight out of mind' wasn't an option but he couldn't bear to look at it any longer.

"Papers on the floor, drawer open," he began, "that's as much as I know." he stared beyond Alex and through the glass to the folk going about their business in CID. "Someone's thinking too hard. Thinking is dangerous. It leads to 'doing'."

Alex sighed sadly and reached for Gene's hand.

"Guv," she breathed, "whatever happens.. Whatever is coming… we'll survive. We've been there before. We'll do it again."

Gene lifted his glass and sank a generous measure in one.

"It's all going to fall apart around my ears again," he said quietly.

"No, Gene, it's _not,"_ Alex urged him to believe her, "it's just a bit of metal made into a number. No one is going to get anything from that. Nothing's going to happen. And even if it did," she looked at him seriously, "we're a team. We stand together."

Gene looked into her eyes and wanted to believe them. He wanted to believe the conviction that Alex held; that everything would be alright, but the wounds from Keats' work back in '83 still hurt and throbbed away in Gene's heart and head. He looked at Alex's hand as it squeezed his own. That touch was warm and strength-giving but couldn't brush away the nagging fears and worries that his discovery had brought to mind.

"You and me, Drake," he said, "we always said we could take on the world. Now… _now,_ we might have to."

"Then we'll do it," Alex said firmly, "we'll do it. Whatever it takes, we'll do it. I'm not losing our team, I'm not losing this world, and I'm not losing you, Gene Hunt. Nothing changes - this is your world. It's going nowhere, and neither are you."

Gene couldn't stop a lump rising in his throat as a question came into the back of his mind. Staring at her, a voice inside his head asked;

'_But, are you, Bolly?_'

It was a question he wasn't ready to think about.

~xXx~

Kim's desk was empty, the phone untouched. The chances were that no one had used it since they'd watched Kim make that call some two or three hours earlier.

Nervously Susannah chewed on the end of her pen. Her eyes flicked back and forth to the phone every few seconds as though making sure it was still there. The thought of hitting the last number redial button made her pulse rocket and her stomach flip-flop, but the thought of staying away and not taking the chance filled her with fear and dread too. Was it better to know what you were up against or to live in blissful ignorance?

It took her several minutes to work out the answer, and eventually she chose the first option.

Feeling like her body was made of lead she slowly forced herself along to Kim's desk. She didn't want to do it, but didn't see a choice. It was now or never - the only thing she could do. All around her people were busy talking, working, laughing, living. No one was looking. No one would know.

As quick as a flash she snatched up the receiver. Pressing it to her ear, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Then, before she could change her mind she reached out and hit the chunky 'R' button and waited.

_Ring._

Maybe there was no one there.

_Ring._

Maybe it would just ring out.

_Ring._

Maybe the phone was out of order.

_Ring._

Maybe the -

That was as far as Susannah's forth excuse came before her call was answered.

One voice said one word. That was all she needed to hear. All it took. All she needed to send her world spiralling into cold dread and fear.

As she hung up her skin turned a deathly white and she felt as though the air had been taken from the room. She couldn't breathe any more. The truth was too terrible. It was worse than she could have imagined, and now she had a secret so awful that she couldn't imagine how to speak of it to anyone.

In that moment, Susannah truly understood what fear was. Nothing could ever be the same again.


	25. Chapter 24: Press Reveal

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"I can't believe it!" Simon cried in horror, "Eighties night! Bloody eighties night!"

Neither he nor Robin had been especially in the mood for another night in a karaoke bar but Gene had been very insistent. Plus, witnessing the fruition of his promise to get a round in was worth the trip alone.

The afternoon had passed quickly; gathering evidence against Nailer, beginning some preliminary questioning and compiling _The Official Nick Nailer Arrest Joke Book. _The two men had found it hard to keep their mind away from thoughts of going home. Both felt sure arresting Nailer had been the key, but with both of them still firmly footed in 1995 they couldn't understand why they hadn't woken up yet.

"Maybe we'll wake up after he'd been officially charged?" Simon suggested.

Robin hoped he was right. The strange day so far had helped to keep his mind away from dwelling on 1995, the first time around. Now that things were slowing down, memories of his father's attack and losing his mother were coming closer and closer all the time.

At least there was no chance of a trigger song, he reassured himself. The fact that it was 80s night may have been a bit of a nightmare for Simon but a blessed relief to Robin.

They weaved their way through the crowd and came to a table where Alex and Gene were sat, the latter of the two complaining that his planed karaoke number had been scuppered by the themed night. Since their talk that afternoon they'd taken strength from each other and although both knew that something was brewing in the air they knew they could face it together. They were prepared for whatever lay ahead.

"Gentlemen," Gene rose to his feet up as the two men approached, "never let it be said that the Gene Genie does not make good on his promise." He indicated two drinks on the table.

"I see," said Simon, "there, erm… don't seem to be very many though," he observed.

"Not my fault we were the only ones here when I got the round in," said Gene.

Glancing at Alex, Simon noticed she had her arm bound up and resting in a rather uncomfortable-looking sling. She also had a bandage wrapped around her head.

"What happened to _you?" _he cried.

"Oh… Susannah finally noticed my arm," Alex said, rather annoyed, "and insisted on _this."_

"What happened to your head?"

"She dropped the first aid box on it."

Simon cringed and sat down as an excitable Robin grabbed the karaoke list and hovered around him, flitting from one side to the other.

"This is great!" he enthused, "look, Si, they've got all our favourites!

A notable difference had come over robin's temperament since Nailer's arrest. There was a renewed hope and positivity about him. Finding that they were at no risk from unwanted _Mike and the Mechanics songs _had just topped it off for him.

"Are you sure your friend hasn't taken any free samples from Nailer?" Gene asked.

Robin leaned over Simon's shoulder.

"I think I might have a go tonight," he said.

"You _hate_ karaoke!" Simon pointed out.

"We're in some weird place, far away from home - no one's ever going to know!" Robin pointed out. He scanned the list of songs for a moment. "I'm going to see if they have…" he whispered something to Simon who developed an embarrassed smile.

"Rob, don't be so cheesy!" he cried.

"Nothing wrong with cheesy!" Robin declared as he bounced of.

Alex raised an eyebrow and turned to Simon.

"He seems… _brighter,"_ she said.

Simon nodded and stared after Robin.

"You're seeing more of _my_ Robin now," he told her as Gene got up and walked to the bar.

"How is he coping?" asked Alex.

Simon's eye never strayed from Robin.

"OK, I think," he said, "I've see a few little things remind him of his family and make him flash back a little, but I think he's doing well. Really well." His eyes finally started to scan the crowd. Susannah and Malcolm were a short distance away; Susannah looking distant and nervous while Malcolm seemed confused by something she was saying. He also seemed to be sitting down a little more carefully than usual. Other than that, the only other person Simon spotted that he recognised was Terry who was doing an interesting interpretation of Nalier's trouserless arrest in an attempt to impress a couple of women at the bar. "No sign of Kim?"

Alex took a sip of her drink and shook her head.

"No," she said quietly, "I wasn't expecting her to come if I'm honest. She's getting more distant."

Simon sighed.

"I tried to speak to her yesterday," he said, "screwed it up. Not trying that again."

Alex gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Simon, do you remember our first proper conversation? When you were in hospital after breaking your toes?" He looked at her blankly. "No, I don't suppose you do. You were enjoying those little blue and white pills too much." she paused. "That was the first time I tried to talk to someone who knew this place wasn't their home. It was the first time I had to cover up what I knew. If you _could_ remember you'd definitely see that screwing it us is fairy normal for a first attempt."

Simon gave a slight smile.

"That's good," he said quietly, "I didn't want Hunt blaming me for letting the side down."

"I'm sure you did everything right" said Alex.

Simon ran a hand through his hair.

"She's a strange girl," he said quietly, "I mean, aside from what she's going through. She kind of reminded me of someone but I couldn't place her."

"What do you mean?"

Simon shrugged.

"I just feel like I'd seen her somewhere before." He shook his head slightly with a tiny laugh. "Alex, I'm sorry, I can't take you seriously with that… _thing _on your head."

Alex gave an annoyed sigh and snatched off the bandage.

"I told her cream wasn't my colour," she snapped.

A hand appeared in front of Simon with a bottle of fancy orange juice in it.

"There," Gene's voice began, "one drink. Good work today, Shoebury. It's good to have you on the team."

Simon glanced up in surprise.

"Thank you," he said, "I… appreciate that. I really do."

Gene sat down, a second bottle in his other hand.

"I got one for Batman too," he pointed out, "but he seems busy getting his cape tangled in the microphone lead."

Simon looked toward the stage where Robin appeared to be getting ready for karaoke but faced trouble dealing with the wire. He tried to step out of the tangled flex but succeeded only in causing it to wrap more tightly around his legs. It reminded him of the scene from the Bagpuss episode about the lost ballet shoe where Professor Yaffle became entangled in a ribbon.

"I'm sure he'll be very grateful," Simon told him. He paused for a moment to gather a little courage, then asked the question he couldn't shake from his mind. "So… when are we going home?"

Gene took a mouthful of his pint and sighed.

"If you're asking for a lift don't look at me, I'll be legless by the end of the night."

"No," Simon began patiently, knowing full well that Gene understood what he meant, "_Home._ Two thousand and ten." He paused, waiting for a response but Gene gave none. "Come on, Hunt. Nailer's away. We did what we were here to do. We can go home now."

"I warned you it didn't work like that," said Gene.

"Then what do we have to do?"

"Look," Gene leaned across the table toward him, "I don't make the rules, I just live by them. I'm not privy to all the notes, clauses and appendices. I don't have the answer."

Simon looked seriously at Gene. He hated to admit it but he really didn't seem to have the answers he was looking for. He stared at his orange juice as he thought about home, his father and sisters, his colleagues, even his guinea pig. He missed them all. He'd felt such a buzz from catching Nailer that he'd almost forgotten the truth behind their situation. His thoughts brought him down to earth with a thump.

Just as he was beginning to feel extremely melancholy, a few familiar bars of a song struck up and he glanced around to see Robin on the stage, microphone in hand.

"I don't believe it," he began as a smile began to spread across his face, "how cheesy can he get?" He turned to Alex, "this is 'our' song," he explained, "_Absolute Beginners_. We have a long history with it."

Alex couldn't help but smile too as she watched Robin beginning to sing.

"…_I've nothing much to offer_

_There's nothing much to take_

_I'm an absolute beginner_

_And I'm absolutely sane…" _

"That's sweet," she said.

"Too mushy for me," said Gene, "someone needs to show this establishment a thing or two about music." He got up again, pint in hand and began walking toward the stage.

"Oh _no_, you're not going to sing again are you?" Alex asked nervously, "you already worked your way through your Nik Kershaw repertoire last week…"

Simon blanched.

"I'm glad I wasn't here for that," he commented.

His eyes fixed in Robin as he continued to sing their favourite song. A smile of true inner happiness and warmth spread across his face as the familiar words swept him away.

"…_As long as were together_

_The rest can go to hell_

_I absolutely love you_

_But were absolute beginners_

_With eyes completely open_

_But nervous all the same…" #_

"You know," Simon began quietly, "it's strange, but one thing I've noticed about being here is that music seems to take on a whole new meaning."

"What do you mean?" asked Alex.

"Lyrics," said Simon, "I find myself fitting them into our situation. Like they make _too_ much sense. Like every song is a part of the story."

Alex stared onto her drink. She'd been guilty of doing that too.

"Being here makes you romantic and cynical, hopeful and desperate, strong and terrified," she confided.

Simon nodded slowly.

"I'm starting to see all of that," he agreed.

Alex saw the look in Simon's eyes as he watched Robin singing every word of the song very pointedly in his direction. The closeness they shared was very clear to see. Alex thought sadly about what Simon had confided in her the day before. His special plans, taken away in an instant. She gestured toward Robin.

"Why don't you ask him?" she said.

Simon frowned.

"Ask him what?"

"'_Ask_' him," Alex repeated, "the important question you had for him yesterday."

Simon turned to Alex looking crestfallen. He had almost managed to forget about his lost chance at proposing. With a heavy heart he said,

"I can't ask him now. Not in this time."

"Does it matter what year you're in?" Alex asked, "If you love each other, that's all that matters."

Simon stared ahead at Robin as he came close to finishing the song.

"Maybe," he said quietly. He sighed and shook his hesd. "No, I need to do it right. Not in a year Robin hates so much. I'll do it when we get back to two thousand and ten. It'll give me an extra incentive to get home."

Alex gave him a thin smile.

"It's your decision," she said.

The last line of _Absolute Beginners _arrived and Simon stood up, a smile across his face and his hands beating together to offer joyful applause to Robin. He leaned toward Alex just a little and said,

"Anyway, you could always take your own advice."

Alex frowned.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Simon nodded toward Gene.

"Ask him," he said.

"Ask who what?"

"Hunt," said Simon, "why don't you _'ask' _him?"

Alex waved her hand dismissively.

"Don't be silly," she said, her cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson.

Simon gave a sly grin.

"It's leap year next year," he pointed out, then set off to envelope Robin in a warm hug, congratulating him on his moment of glory.

Alex stared sadly at Gene as Simon walked away. There was a part of her that had to admit she'd thought about it now and then, but it simply wasn't that easy. Gene's comments about marriage left her in no doubt that he wasn't the biggest fan of that particular institution. The thought of asking and receiving a knock back was something she couldn't bare to imagine.

~xXx~

"Are you going to tell me?"

Susannah glanced up.

"Huh?"

"Are you going to tell me what the matter is?" Malcolm asked.

Susannah didn't know quite what to say.

"Nothing's the matter," she said quietly.

"I know today's be… weird. _And _tough," Malcolm began, "I'm worried too. But you've been so quiet since this afternoon." He paused. "Is it something I've done?"

Susannah shook her head.

"No, of course not."

"Something about DC Hunt?"

"Not really."

"Then what?"

Susannah bit her lip and took a deep breath. She wasn't sure what to tell him. She didn't know whether she had the strength to say the words. She'd spent the best part of the afternoon and the evening facing an internal battle, whether to speak the truth or to keep it within her to spare the fear of others. It was bad enough making a discovery so terrifying herself. Having to say the words to share it with somebody else seemed beyond what she could bear. Eventually she gave a very slow nod, affirming to herself that she had finally made the decision, then looked Malcolm in the eye.

"You're right," she said quietly, "there is something."

Malcolm hesitated. He had rarely seen her so scared.

"Susie, you're shaking," he said quietly.

Susannah swallowed. She took in a deep, slow breath.

"I know who it was," she whispered, "I know who Kim was talking to."

Malcolm wasn't expecting that. He froze for a moment.

"Who?"

Susannah glanced around.

"Not here," she whispered.

Malcolm got to his feet and held out his hand.

"Let's go outside," he said quietly.

Nervously, Susannah nodded and followed him through the crowd to the doors where they escaped the sticky, hot club and took their secret into the chilly night outside.

~xXx~

"Never let it be said I lack romance," beamed Robin as Simon finished offering him seven shades of praise for his serenade. He coughed a little and cleared his throat.

"Are you OK?" asked Simon, "did you sing too loudly or something?"

"No!" cried Robin, "ugh, not used to the smoke in here, that's all. Forgot the smoking ban doesn't exist yet here." He sighed. "I'm just going to go and walk round the block, get a bit of fresh air.

"Ill come with you," said Simon.

"_Simon, wait!"_ Alex's voice called him before he had a chance to go anywhere. He looked around.

"What's wrong?"

Alex caught up to him.

"Can you help?" she asked sheepishly, "Gene's got his foot caught between the steps leading up to the stage and I've only got one arm to pull it out with…"

Simon frowned, thinking it was some kind of wind-up that would end up with a shoe-related joke but as he glanced over he could see that Gene was, in fact, stuck.

"Bloody hell, there's never a dull moment here, is there?" he asked, "Look, you go ahead, Rob. I'll help work his foot free then I'll join you for a walk."

"OK," smiled Robin, giggling just a little at the thought of Gene's trapped extremity.

Simon gave Robin a warm kiss before setting off with Alex to the cries of, _"I paid five quid to get in your bloody club, are you telling me you can't afford a bloody saw to get me out of this?"_

"It's certainly been a day of surprises," he said innocently.

~xXx~

"So?" Malcolm could feel fear growing inside of him as he walked along with Susannah, "who was it then?"

Susannah folded her arms to try to block out the bitingly cold air. It was an October night and the winter was fast chasing autumn away.

"I don't even know why we didn't think of it sooner," she said quietly, "last number redial. We should have done it straight away." she paused. "While you were the toilet, it suddeny came to me"

Malcolm felt his mouth grow very dry. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for the worst.

"So you pressed it?" he asked.

Susannah nodded as their steady pace of walking trailed to a halt and she turned to look at him seriously.

"I wasn't expecting it," she whispered, "not to hear his voice. Not to hear his _name._"

"Whose name?"

"It's impossible, Mal… I don't know how this can be."

"Just tell me, Susie, you're scaring me."

Susannah closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath.

"He's _dead, _Malcolm."

"Who is?"

"I heard his voice, I heard his name… but he's _dead."_

Malcolm held her hands.

"Tell me, Susannah, _please."_

Quietly, Susannah leaned forward and spoke the name the filled her with dread. Malcolm's eyes opened wide and his heart thumped heavily within his chest. All at once, the fear in her eyes made sense - but it was the only thing that did.

It wasn't possible, it just wasn't possible. And yet somehow, it was true.

~xXx~

Robin's feet scuffed through leaves as he walked along. He didn't dare go too far, knowing Simon would be out when he'd helped Gene to work his foot free but he was enjoying the night air. It settled across his shoulders and filled his lungs. How could this feel so real? It was the strangest thing to consider.

"Enjoyed the pictures, did you?"

Robin froze. He recognised that voice. It was the same voice he'd heard the night before. He slowly glanced around and found a figure once again hiding in the shadows. There was an outline of a man but not a lot more.

"Pardon?" he asked nervously.

"The photographs," the man began. "I take it they were helpful?"

Robin swallowed.

"Yes," he said quietly, "if you mean the photographs of Nick Nailer, they were very helpful." he paused.

"So I take it you were pleased with my tip-off?"

Robin felt his hands tremble just a little. He couldn't explain the feeling of cold dread washing over him but it was far deeper than any fear he'd experienced in his life.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "what are you doing here and what do you want?"

"It's not about what _I_ want," the voice told him, "it's about what _you_ want." he paused. "To go home." Robin's skin began to crawl. "You _do_ want to go home, don't you Robin?"

"How do you know my name?" Robin hissed.

"I make it my business to know things," the man told him, "that's why I made such a good informant." He paused. "Now I'm going to inform you of something else."

"It had better be your name," snapped Robin.

The man stepped out of the shadows.

"I was thinking more along the lines of how to find your way home," he said.

As the light hit his features, the stranger became familiar to Robin. It took him a while to link it up; to realise who he was. A digitised picture on the database, a glimpse in the darkness, photos on the news reports, images in the case notes.

That face. That man. That terrible, evil man.

"I know you," he breathed, the terror causing every muscle in his body to twitch and tremble.

"That saves on the introductions," the man commented.

Robin swallowed.

"Keats," he whispered, "Jim Keats."

Keats gave a hearty laugh and glowered at Robin.

"I'm flattered you remember me so well," he said, "considering we only met in passing."

Robin's eyes flashed with a mix of anger, fear and absolute horror. He swallowed to stop himself from screaming.

"You drugged Simon… shot him… stalked us both, tried to kill Alex."

"I don't think much of your small-talk," Keats told him.

"You _bastard," _Robin hissed, "you're an absolute evil bastard."

Keats seemed not to have heard.

"Like I said, I have something else to inform you of."

Robin trembled a little, torn between running for is life and hearing what the man had to say.

"Yes?" He whispered

Keats reached into his long coat and from within he pulled a tape. He stretched out his offering and placed it into the unwilling hands of Robin.

"Your boyfriend enjoyed this tape," he said, "I think you should see it too." He turned to walk away. "And then, maybe when you've watched it, you can ask yourself who you should really be trusting so far away from home." he began to walk away. "Goodnight, Robin. Sleep tight." He paused. "don't let the millennium bugs bite."

As Robin watched him walk away he couldn't make sense of what had just occurred. The tape in his hands felt like it could burn right through his fingers and the sight of the man who'd near destroyed Simon now etched forever onto his mind.

He stared at the tape. Whatever was on it could never change the way he felt about Keats, he knew that much.

"How the hell is he _here?" _he whispered, "and what the hell is he trying to do with me?"

He didn't know what to do or where to go. A few moments earlier it all seemed so simple _- job done, first exit coming up on the right._

Now the devil was offering him his hand - and Robin couldn't stop shaking.


	26. Chapter 25: Twinkle Twinkle

**Chapter Twenty Five**

Malcolm leaned against the wall and let out his breath slowly. His eyes focused on the ground, unable to meet Susannah's gaze. It wasn't that he didn't believe her or thought she was misleading him in any way, it was just that he couldn't understand for one moment how it could be true.

"You saw him die," he whispered, "I mean… he's got a _gravestone_…" he shook his head. "Are you sure it wasn't just someone with a similar name?"

"It was him, Mal, I'd recognise his voice anywhere," Susannah shuddered. She may not have understood the power Keats had or the danger he posed but she'd had her own encounter with the darkness he brought to the world ten years earlier.

"What did he say, exactly?" Malcolm asked.

"Just his name," Susnanah whispered, "I wasn't hanging around for light conversation." She pulled her jacket around her, shivering from head to toe. To the outsiders she looked like a young lady with a thin coat on a cold night, but her shivers were caused by fear, not by the October weather. "Hearing his voice… it brought it all back. I hadn't thought about that in years, but it brought it right back to me."

Malcolm finally looked her in the eye. He saw her expression full of anxiety and sadness as a grim memory returned to her.

"I wasn't there with you all outside when it happened" he said, "I don't really remember much about how he died."

"It was after we'd rescued DCI Drake," she said quietly, "she went back with the Guv to find him. By the time I got there the room was on fire. DCI Keats ran out of the building and straight into a car heading in his direction. I ran to him… I saw a good opportunity to practice…"

"…Your first aid," Malcolm rolled his eyes, "yes, I know."

"I thought he was dead at first," Susannah's trembling grew stronger, "but when I got to him and tried to check if he was still breathing he grabbed me. He grabbed me hard around my face - oh _God, _the pain was awful..."

Malcolm flinched as a memory of the bruises and the marks from Keats's fingernails around Susannah's pretty face came back to him. It had taken weeks for some of them to fully heal.

"Oh, Susannah."

"He went _crazy, _Mal," she slid to the ground, her legs growing too weak to keep her upright, "he was jabbering about taking my place." She closed her eyes, flinching as she realised how ridiculous her words sounded. "He insinuated he was going to swap places with me, so that he would… take my life… and I would be dread."

"Totally insane," breathed Malcolm.

"But," Susannah choked on the words. She prepared to reveal something she'd kept hidden inside her for all that time; for a decade of her life. "It went beyond being the words of a madman. I could _feel _it, Malcom. I could feel my life ebbing away. The weaker I grew, the stronger he gripped me. He _was_ taking my life force somehow, he _was_ doing what he threatened."

Malcolm stared at her, unsure what he was supposed to say.

"You understand how… _crazy_ that sounds… he began, "right?"

Susannah felt tears springing to her eyes.

"No crazier than hearing voices and laughter in the air," she whispered, "no crazier than someone's paperwork transferring them from eight years in the future."

Malcolm looked away a little guiltily. He was a fine one to talk.

"No crazier than a tiny dog morphing into a huge monstrosity," he said quietly. He was aware of Susannah's gaze falling upon him curiously. "This morning," he whispered, "when I came in to the office. You asked me what was wrong."

Susannah slowly reached for his hand.

"I knew there was something else," she whispered.

"Outside, I saw a dog," Malcolm began, "It was only a tiny thing. I've never had a problem with dogs."

"Right."

"But then…" he shook his head, "I don't understand how, Susie, but I was seeing the dog as this… giant, vicious beast. Like a massive, angry dog, barking at me… biting me. I was terrified. I could feel the pain, I could feel it sink its teeth into me - then it all stopped and went back to normal. It was just this… tiny little dog again. I didn't understand it and I still don't." He looked down. "I'm crazy too, right?"

Susannah took a deep breath.

"No," she whispered, "you're not crazy. And neither am I." She rubbed her forehead and said, ""I buried it all that time, Mal. Ten years. I didn't even think about it for such a long time. I never even thought about what Keats did in that way. I just thought of him as a madman, I was too grateful to get away with my life intact to think about it too much." She threw her hands in the air. "Hunt _shot_ him! He shot him in the head to save my life, and the bullet wound disappeared! How did I bury _that?_ What's been wrong with me all this time? For ten _years?_ How could I have buried all this?"

"We've both be burying a lot of questions," Malcolm said quietly.

Susannah stared at the sky, her mind racing.

"As soon as I heard his voice, I realised that whatever unfolds changes everything," she whispered, "he's the second dead man to come back in a matter of days. I didn't buy the fake-death excuse with Simon and I'm not buying it with Keats if anyone tries to sell us that line again."

Malcolm stared at her.

"And Kim," he whispered, "what was _she_ doing calling him?"

Susannah shook her head slowly.

"Whatever the reason, it's not going to be good," she whispered.

Malcolm tapped his fingers nervously against the frame of his glasses.

"She's always going on about wanting to go home," he began, "and she said in her phone call that she thinks someone _else_ here can help her home instead. She's undercover. Got to be."

"What makes you think that?" Susannah asked quietly.

"The two IDs," said Malcolm.

"One of which was from two thousand and three," Susannah reminded him.

"That's got to be a mistake though," said Malcolm, "Look at the evidence - Simon suddenly comes back from the dead and DCI Hunt says he's been undercover. Now DCI Keats is also back from the dead. Kim wants to go home, wants to come out of her undercover case, Keats says he can get her out of it but strings her long, she finds out Simon's been undercover and thinks he will be able to help her instead. That's got to be it."

Susannah shared at him. She was silent for a long time. It made a kind of sense, it really did, and she so wanted it t be true. Slowly, she ran her tongue across her lips and bagan quietly,

"And the laughter and the voices in Hunt's office… they were there because Kim was secretly playing a tape of background noise, right? And Webber and Tariq and Nicole and Paul and all the others who suddenly vanished with no word and no trace… they all went undercover too, didn't they? And the little dog that turned into a great slobbering beast? Well, that must be Keats's family pet. And the starlight…" her voice began to waver slightly, "the stars… the ones that appear and fill the space where walls or ceilings should be… I'm the only one that sees that, right? Because I must be going undercover too. I'm just so deeply undercover that _I _don't even know it yet," she paused, "Right?"

Malcolm licked his lips very slowly. He looked at her with glassy eyes.

"I thought I was imagining the stars," he whispered.

Susannah looked down. Her heart was thumping and her mouth was as dry as the dusty desert. She tried to keep her voice level and calm but it was becoming incredibly difficult.

"Do you ever dream, Malcolm?"

"What do you mean?"

"At night? Do you dream when you go to sleep?"

"Well, of course," Malcolm gave a laugh of nervous confusion, "doesn't everyone?"

Susannah took a deep breath.

"Do you ever know you're in a dream… while you're actually dreaming?"

Malcolm thought for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

"No, never," he said quietly.

"It's possible," Susannah told him, "it's called lucid dreaming… but it's not that common. Me? Maybe three… four times in my life." she paused. "If we were dreaming right now, how would we know?"

Malcolm frowned.

"You think we're in a dream?" he asked.

Susannah stared at the ground.

"Kim, Simon, Paul… they've all gone on about some kind of accident," she whispered, "claiming they're in a coma or their life is at risk and need to get home. Some of the others said similar things too, and on their own I never thought anything much about it. Now looking at all the pieces together…"

Malcolm rubbed his temples.

"The picture becomes clearer the more of the jigsaw you put together," he whispered.

"What if we're all in some kind of dream?" Susannah asked, "what if we're dying and none of us know it? What if this isn't real? I don't remember anything from before I started work at Fenchurch, Mal. I just spent the afternoon trying and I can't remember a thing."

Malcolm felt like his brain was about to explode.

"So what do we do?" he asked, "where can we go from here?"

"We need to find out what Kim's deal with Keats is for a start," she said, "it sounded like she was working for him, and I don't like the idea of that. Who knows what he could have asked her to do."

"Do we go to Hunt?"

"With what? A phone call to a dead man? Mention Keats and he goes all…. flappy and angry at the best of times. Can you imagine what he'd do if we tried to tell him he is still alive?"

Malcolm nodded slowly.

"You've got a point,"

"And besides," Susannah whispered, "I'm not sure how much I trust him either. He had those files, remember? And Drake and Shoebury are a part of his side, whether that's good or bad."

Malcolm looked at her seriously.

"So it's just you and I," he said.

Susannah nodded.

"Looks that way," she whispered.

Malcolm took her hands and held them as he had so many times in the last tem years. It was his way of making her feel safe. He didn't think it would have much effect in their current situation but it was worth trying nonetheless, just to show her he was there.

"Tomorrow, we find Keats," he said decisively, "and we speak to Kim. We'll take it from there. But anything we do, we do together."

"Right," whispered Susannah.

They stared at one another for several moments in silence, listening to each other's breathing, watching each other's eyes blink involuntarily, watching the blowing of their hair and the trembling of their hands; each of those motions speaking of how real they and their lives were. Yet inside, both of them began to realise that something was fundamentally wrong with their world, with their lives, with their existence.

"We're not who we think we are," Susannah whispered, "are we?"

Malcolm didn't reply. There was no need. She could already see his answer written all over his face.

They folded into each other's arms and lay back against the side of a building, lost to the night air. They didn't want to talk any more. They didn't even want to think. They just wanted to feel each other beside them and live for that moment, for that feeling. Up above them, the sky opened up and the clouds disappeared. In their place, bold starlight shone upon them. They held each other in spite of its taunting light. With each other's strength to draw upon they would find the answers they needed, starlight or no.

~~xxXxx~~

A/N: for more background on the events Susannah explains in this chapter, if you've not read _Out of the Window _the scene is found in Chapter 26!


	27. Chapter 26: Ballet Lessons

**Chapter Twenty Six**

"Right, if I put this car jack between the steps to part them and then you pull, DCI Shoebury," Terry unexpectedly took charge of things, "M'am, have you got the butter?"

Alex stepped forward, a slab of _I Can't Believe It's Not Butter_ in her hands.

"Sort of," she said.

"I can't believe it's _not_," Simon commented.

"Remind me to recommend you for their next advertising campaign," an angry Gene scowled, "now if you don't mind can we get on with this before I have to chew through me own leg?"

Simon leaned toward Alex.

"Shame _Saw_ hasn't been made yet," he commented.

Despite herself, Alex giggled and covered her mouth, trying to turn it into a cough to protect Gene's pride. She had to admit that it was a wonderful feeling to have someone to openly share jokes about the future with. It was like spilling a secret she'd been keeping for an eternity.

"Drake! Get that butter over here pronto, and any grease on me trousers will not be appreciated"

By now Gene's embarrassment and annoyance levels were through the roof. The karaoke had been closed down for the night as no one could use the machine while the rescue mission was taking place so the _smoooooth_ DJ from the previous night was setting up to continue the 80s musical theme.

"_Heeeeey_, I'm back with you all for a night of great eighties hits!" He piped up.

"Oh goodie, my favourite," moaned Simon as Alex began smearing butter around the steps and Gene's foot.

"_And first up, here's another one for Simon!"_

Simon froze. He turned to the DJ, eyes blazing.

"Oh god, not again," he mumbled.

"Your admirer must be back tonight, Simon, someone's very keen to see you stick around!" the DJ began, "because tonight this one goes out to you, it's Paul Young with _Come Back and Stay!"_

Simon's blood began to boil as the song started to play.

"Who the hell is doing this?" he cried, the words floating through the club.

"…_Since you've been gone  
>I shut my eyes and I fantasize that you're here with me<br>Will you ever return?  
>I won't be satisfied till you're by my side<br>Don't wait any longer...  
>Come back"<em>

"Simon, come on!" Alex called, "grab his leg!"

"Someone's got it in for me," he hissed, "Listen to that - who keeps requesting this crap?"

"Oi! _Shoe-face! _Get your backside over here and get me out!" Gene wasn't going to wait any longer.

With a frustrated sigh, Simon knelt down and held Gene's ankle around by the sock. He raised an eyebrow.

"_Taz-mania?" _he asked, staring at the cartoon character staring back at him.

"My socks are none of your business," Gene told him, "stick to shoes in the future and leave my footwear out of it!"

"Alright," Terry finished pushing the steps a little wider apart with the car jack, "Get ready… and… _PULL!"_

Simon gripped Gene's ankle and leaned backwards, pulling with all his might.

"It's coming," be groaned as he felt the foot beginning to slide a little, _"It's coming…."_

"Simon?" a familiar voice behind him came but before Simon could glance around or reply Gene's foot shot out of the steps, minus the shoe, and all three men fell backwards, into an unsuspecting Robin.

"Argh, I lost me shoe!" Gene cried.

Simon landed hard on his wrist and yelped.

"Argh! My wrist, that kills!" he cried, rubbing it furiously.

"Should I get Susannah?" Alex offered.

Simon gave her an annoyed glance.

"I think I'll survive," he said, hardly able to think of anything he'd like less than receiving one of her bandages. He stared at his wrist to check the bones were still pointing in the right direction. "Oh _no,"_ he sighed sadly, "I've broken my watch, too."

"I think I've broken Terry," Gene mumbled, realising why his landing had been fairly soft.

"_Simon," _Robin's voice came again.

Simon stopped tapping his watch and looked up.

"I'm sorry, Rob," he apologised, "this took longer than expected."

Robin looked uncomfortable.

"Can we go home?" he asked.

Simon looked at him anxiously. He knew that tone.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Nothing's happened," Robin lied, "I'm just tired."

Simon got to his feet, dusted himself down and rubbed his wrist.

"Come on, Rob, I know you" he whispered, "what's the matter?"

Robin glanced around.

"I don't want to talk here," he said quietly.

Simon's own nerves grew as the music began to filter through to him again.

"_Why don't you come back?_

_Please hurry, Why don't you come back?_

_Please hurry..._

_Come back and stay for good this time_

_Come back and stay for good this time.."_

His fears at the second dedication returned and he nodded slowly.

"OK," he sad quietly, "let's go."

Robin closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Simon tapped Alex on the shoulder to get her attention. She glanced around to see him looking anxious.

"What's the matter?" she frowned.

Simon gave a light sigh.

"Nothing," he lied, "but Robin and I have decided to go home."

Alex gave a sympathetic smile.

"Not in the mood for eighties music?" she asked.

"Something like that," said Simon.

"Tell Batman to fly me home in the Batmobile," Gene piped up, "otherwise I'll be limping home with one shoe!"

"Well I'm sure it will give you an excuse to come up with a new batch of jokes to aim at me tomorrow," Simon commented.

Gene thought for a moment.

"You have a good point," he said.

Alex stared after Simon and Robin as they slowly left the club, arm in arm. Something had happened, she was fairly sure of it, but it didn't seem like the time or the place to pry. She stared around the club and found no sign of Susannah or Malcolm either.

"So much for our big celebration," she commented as Gene tried to persuade Terry to lend him one of his shoes.

"Yeah, well," Gene mumbled.

Alex sat down beside him and looked at him a little anxiously.

"You were right earlier," she whispered.

"I usually am," said Gene, "but what about this time?"

Alex bit her lip.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, "something's happening."

Gene nodded slowly and looked away.

"Things are changing, Bolly," he said, "things are falling apart."

"We can fix it, Gene," She told him, "we just have to find out who or what is behind it so we can work out what to do."

They fell into silence as the song ended and the _smoooooth_ DJ began to speak again.

"Now here's a little number for a happy couple in the crowd tonight," he began, "to Alex and Gene! This one's from an old friend who can't wait to see you both soon. Here's a little _Spandau Ballet _for you both!"

Familiar opening bars rang out through the club of a song that brought cold dread to both Alex and Gene. Their eyes met in silence, both drowned in a cold shower of dreadful recognition and realisation.

"_So true funny how it seems_

_Always in time, but never in line for dreams_

_Head over heels when toe to toe_

_This is the sound of my soul,_

_This is the sound…"_

Alex licked her lips slowly. They seemed very dry suddenly. There was only one person who knew the significance of that song. One man who knew what it meant for them. It was no exaggeration to say that things began to fall into place a little more clearly.

"Well," Alex said quietly, "I think we may have found out part of the problem."

"…_I bought a ticket to the world,  
>But now I've come back again<br>Why do I find it hard to write the next line  
>Oh I want the truth to be said…"<em>

Gene swallowed hard. The song was a very clear message that seemed to come from nowhere. He stared at Alex.

"…_I know this much is true  
>I know this much is true…"<em>

"Been a good week for coming back from the dead," he said dryly.

Silence fell again as the music swallowed them up, surrounded by memories, and fears. There were too many words to say, too many questions, too many nightmares ahead of them.

"…_With a thrill in my head and a pill on my tongue  
>Dissolve the nerves that have just begun<br>Listening to Marvin all night long  
>This is the sound of my soul,<br>This is the sound…"_

"We've gone full circle, Bolly," Gene said quietly.

Alex opened her mouth to reassure him, to make promises that they'd be alright, that they'd find a way, that they'd deal with Keats, but they would have been lies. She couldn't promise any of those things. She could hope they would be true but that was as far as it went.

"…_Always slipping from my hands,  
>Sand's a time of its own<br>Take your seaside arms and write the next line  
>Oh I want the truth to be known…"<em>

Eventually her only reply was to place her hand over his. They might not have the assurances they wanted but they had each other and this time they were solid and united.

All they could do was to hope and pray that would be enough this time.

"…_I know this much is true  
>I know this much is true<em>

I bought a ticket to the world,  
>But now I've come back again<br>Why do I find it hard to write the next line  
>Oh I want the truth to be said<p>

I know this much is true  
>I know this much is true<br>This much is true  
>I know, I know, I know this much is true."<p>

_**~~xxXxx~~**_

_**Sorry this was a shortish chapter, this seemed like the right place to end as the next few sections belong in one long chapter together so I wanted to stop this one here. **_

_**I can't believe this fic is already as long as my first A2A fic and there are still a lot of chapters to go! I really appreciate your thoughts and reviews, it means a lot to me that you're sticking with this although it's turned into such a long story (which even I wasn't expecting!) - It actually would have been even longer but I've decided to break away one part of the story to form a sequel after this one (this was supposed to be the last of a trilogy but this series of fics has been like a itch I can't stop scratching!) which will actually feature one of the original A2A characters. **_

_**I'm a few days behind on replying to reviews and PMs but I'm going to try to do so tonight!**_


	28. Chapter 27: I Dream To Sleep

**A/N - Please forgive the mistakes in this chapter (and the others!) I have a severe fault with this keyboard which misses out a TON of letters, adds/doesn't put capitals and substitutes some letters for others. Every chapter I wtite I have to practically write twice because of all the missing/wrong letters! It's a known fault apparently - shame I didn't 'know' about it before I bought this laptop :/ But I'm really not that bad at typing!**

**~xXx~**

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Nobody felt much like talking that night. So much to work through, but no one could bring themselves to do so. It all felt like too much to cope with, too much to express.

On their walk home, Simon and Robin should have probably had the most to say to each other but both found it too difficult to vocalise what they'd experienced that night. Robin in particular was stuck between a rock and a hard place. His brush with Keats had terrified him beyond words and he knew it could only spell trouble for everyone, but Simon's own terrible experience with the evil man was still fresh in both their minds and the last thing Robin wanted to do was to bring that back for him.

On paper it should have been an easy decision - tell Simon and get it out in the open. But he'd seen Simon a shadow of his usual self, waking screaming in the night after being haunted by constant nightmares involving Keats and a Speak & Spell. He remembered the extreme lengths Keats went to in 2010 to destroy Simon's life; drugging him, stalking him, leading Robin to believe that they'd slept together. He remembered Simon's tears and screams, his endless nightmares. He couldn't bring all that back. Not without knowing for sure that Keats was intent on causing trouble.

He decided to sleep on it and work out how to tell him in the morning. He would still rather have kept it to himself and not troubled Simon with the disturbing news but after Simon confided receiving another musical dedication Robin had a strong suspicion he knew who was behind it and realised he had no choice.

_One night_, he thought. _Give Simon one more night. _The shocking news would still be there tomorrow.

And so would the gifted tape he had tucked into his coat.

~xXx~

Gene and Alex were going through a stunned silence of their own. Both realising who was behind their very pointed dedication, their next dilemma was working out what Keats wanted and what to do next. They had questioned the _smooooooth_ DJ at length about the person who had requested the music but the DJ had seemed rather taken aback by their questioning, told them the requests were waiting for him before he arrived and tried to bribe them with a free BeeGees CD to go away.

Knowing there would be much talking to be done the following day they left shortly afterwards and spent much of the rest of the night in near-silence, just feeling safer in each others presence than they ever would alone.

~xXx~

Silence fell over Malcolm and Susannah as they walked back to the flat they'd been sharing for the last three years. How many times had they walked through that doorway? Never before had it been surrounded by myriad stars.

They had already done so much talking. Too much to deal with. It was time to put words and thoughts aside for now and to hold each other while they still had the chance.

Heading to bed, both of them couldn't help but feel their days were numbered. They couldn't explain it neither could they express it. They just felt sure they had to make the most of every last moment together, and words had their place but for one night their touch did all the talking for them.

~xXx~

Six people, three couples, hardly a word said through the most fear-laden night of their lives.

Sleep arrived.

~xXx~

There were flashes of pain. Flashes of violence.

Screaming. Hate. _Fear._

Images of his father's face above him. Images of his mother crying until her life slipped away.

There were moments he'd relived a thousand times over. There were moments he's buried for so long that they caught him by surprise.

…His body turning over and over in bed, covered in beads of sweat; his mind full of nightmares and terror fuelled by the year, the night and that evil man.

Like a microfiche machine scrolling back and forth through pages of information, Robin saw slides of his life shown to him in his fevered dreams.

_**Scroll, scroll, scroll**__**….**_

His father, a sneer across his face, the names that flowed from his mouth every day.

_**Scroll, scroll, scroll**__**…**_

Gunfire; a bullet flying through the air, striking the beautiful dog he sank so many hours into training. His anger flying up inside of him, taking over his body and sending his feet pounding toward the car.

_**Scroll, scroll scroll.**_

Simon's eyes flickering open, just for a second, the bandage around his head and the machines bleeping to show he was still alive. Robin's own voice, gasping in surprise, begging for his observation to be true;

"…_Hey…? HEY! You blinked! You did… you blinked! I saw you!… Come on, open your eyes!"_

_**Scroll, scroll, scroll.**_

Sitting on his mother's lap, listening to her sing to him gently, always knowing his father could arrive home at any moment and wipe away the feelings of peace and joy with one cutting line, but treasuring that moment of love and protection to the very last second.

_**Scrolling again, scrolling faster, life speeding by.**_

A nightclub; an 80s theme night, David Bowie flooding through the speakers. A young man dressed head to toe as Adam Ant. Cries of, _"Hey, that's my favourite song!" _and eyes that met with a spark and a connection.

_**Scrolling, scrolling, on, through, faster.**_

"_Congratulations, PC Thomas, you've been awarded a place in the canine division's training programme."_

"_Thank you, sir! I won't let you down!"_

_**Scrolling**__**…. On…. Onward…**_

"We've got the test results back, and they've shown positive for rohypnol."

"_Shit."_

Do you wish for us to forward the paperwork on?"

"No… no paperwork… no case…"

_**Scrolling on… forward… backward…**_

"No, dad! Stop! Please! _Stop!"_

**Scrolling****….**

Eyes flickering open, slowly… woozy… everything hurting… above him a young policeman, reaching out, scooping him up, taking him out of the nightmare, out of the situation, one safe and strong pair of arms. _A hero._

_**Scrolling again**__**… faster… forwards…**_

"_Robin, you've got to come quick. It's Simon…. He's in hospital again. He's been shot…"_

**_Scrolling__…. Scrolling…_**

A TV set blaring in the background; a lonely hospital room. Doctors, nurses, police.

"_Poor lad… he's got no one now."_

"_There's an aunt in Surrey."_

"_How does a boy ever get over something like this?"_

Grasping the remote in his hand, jamming up the volume to block out the talk.

News report. Explosion and fire, ripping through a disused yard.

"…_timed device detonated around midday today. Police and fire crews arrived at the scene too late to salvage much of the evidence but it is thought that notorious drug dealer -"_

_**Scrolling-scrolling-scrolling, faster now, so fast… can hardly catch his breath…**_

Speeding along, no control, just anger…

"_Robin, look OUT!"_

_Crash, flip, flop, flying through the air._

_**Scrolling**__**…**_

"_Keep him steady… OK, let's get him free of this and get him straight to hospital."_

_**Scrolling**__**…**_

"_Father in law is here. Do you want to tell him…"_

_**Scrolling**__**…**_

One long, endless tone.

**Scrolling****…**

"_We're lowering the medication now, Robin… see if you can wake up on your own…"_

_**Scrolling**__**….**_

"_Your boyfriend enjoyed this tape…"_

_**Wallop! **_A Keats right in the face!

Eyes open, wide awake.

Robin sat up straight in bed, panting and gasping for breath. He took several moments to work out who he was, let alone _where_ he was.

"_Shit," _he breathed as he reached over to Simon, laying beside him in bed. He gently stroked his hair down, the feel of it under his fingers planting his feet firmly back on the ground and helping him to know he was back to reality. Simon didn't stir so he stopped touching his hair and slowly slipped his legs out of the bed and tiptoed away.

He brushed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. How could he have been so terrified of a dream? Then again, he realised, the dream had been made up of some of the very worst moments of his life - with a few of the best tucked away in there too.

No wonder his pulse was racing.

The final image flashed into his mind; Keats, glowering, offering out an item for Robin. He couldn't shake that moment.

Slowly he walked to the coat rail front door and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed around the small, rectangular package inside it He slipped it out and stared at it. It was jus a video. How bad could it be?

He knew he had no choice. He had to watch it. He couldn't get the thought of it out his head. He knew whatever was on the tape couldn't change anything but he still needed to know.

The video recorder invited him over to share some quality time with it, and before he knew it he'd sipped the tape inside. The static that appeared on the TV screen danced before his eyes, until a gruesome picture took over.

As soon as it appeared, Robin found himself longing for static again.

~xXx~

_Herself, in a bed._

That was the first thing Alex saw.

Her face, blank and peaceful. Her body stone still.

Machines bleeped and whirred and went on about their business.

"_Come on, Alex," _a voice called her.

Who was that? She wasn't sure. There didn't seem to be anyone else around.

"Come _on!"_

This time the voice was more urgent and more insistent.

"Come on Alex! Your body needs you too!"

She saw her own eyes open, and a smile spread across her own lips. The face she saw before her gave her a warm greeting.

"_Come on, Alex," _it said _"its time to come back. It's time for us to get on with our lives."_

_What? _Alex didn't understand. Was her body calling her back?

"…_**Responses have improved by fifty-percent on the new treatment!"**_

Now, who was that? Not herself, that was for certain. The peaceful smile of her body's face did not move.

"…_**prepare family that she has a strong likelihood of waking up when the drugs are discontinued…"**_

What? Waking _up?_

"_Welcome home, Alex," _her own face smiled and greeted her.

The scene was too confusing… too daunting… too creepy for her to handle. She found herself running, trying to escape her own talking body, her feet pounding on the ground as she ran faster and faster from the room. Down a corridor, turn a corner, run a little harder, stopping only when a pain in her stomach caught up with her throbbing, pulsating, bringing her to her knees.

She doubled up, clutching her midsection. What was the matter? Had she been shot? Stabbed? There was no wound, just pain.

"_You must take it easy, Alex…" a voice floated through the air, "after all you've been through… you must take things slowly…"_

A face appeared in front of her. Gene. Dark. Grim.

"Say goodbye, Bolly," he whispered.

Then,

Wide awake.

Like a jack-in-the-box Alex sat bolt upright. She clutched her good arm to her chest, the other one still hurting like crazy. Her pulse was galloping and her breath was too shallow to bring her the oxygen she needed. The pain in her stomach from her dream still throbbed now that she was awake and her limbs trembled as she tried to work out whether she'd been dreaming or not. Gene laid beside, her sound asleep, a tiny snore emanating from him now and then. The image of his face bidding her farewell stayed to the forefront of her mind, stirring up a nausea so ravaging that she had to make a dash to the bathroom.

As her stomach settled, she slowly made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Just hours earlier the thought of being in a world where Keats had returned terrified her beyond belief.

Suddenly it was the thought of ever leaving the world that gave her that same fear.

~xXx~

Where the hell _was_ this place?

It wasn't a place he'd ever seen, that was for sure.

Malcolm walked around the unfamiliar flat. It didn't belong to him and it wasn't a place he'd ever visited before. It looked like something out of the space age to him, with weird looking TV sets that were the same thickness as a road map and little computers that opened up like books.

There was a bottle on the kitchen table with a glass beside it. In the sink were a few unwashed cups, spoons and plates. A bizarre kind of phone lay on the table near to the bottle too. Swooping in and out of the rooms, Malcolm's essence travelled through the hallway and into a bedroom. A tiny crack of light shone through the window illuminating two figures in bed.

Beside the bed on one side stood a half-finished cup of coffee. On the other were a couple of cigarette butts and a pair of spectacles. Closer to the figures now, Malcolm's essence grew near. Swooping and diving, getting nearer and seeing things more clearly.

_Two figures… two men… still and silent._

The faces… they were familiar. It took a moment for Malcolm to realise who they were. One was Simon… it was most definitely Simon. He recognised his hair, his features, it was very clear to see.

The second figure was familiar still but a little more unclear. It took a while for the features to come into a sharper focus and when they did Malcolm instantly wished they hadn't.

_Keats._

His eyes opened and he smiled menacingly at Malcolm.

"Fancy seeing you here," he beamed.

Malcolm's essence turned and fled on a panic, floating out of the room and down the hall, ducking into another room.

It was a calmer room; a lighter and friendly room. Comfy couch, nice chairs, a table with a bowl of fruit in the middle. On one of the arms of the couch there was a newspaper, the front page spread clearly for all to see.

_Young PC hailed hero after being mauled to death by savage dog._

Below the headline was a photograph. A familiar face smiled back at him.

This time, it was a face that he saw every day of his life.

A face he saw every time he looked in the mirror.

'_A local PC with his whole career ahead of him has been posthumously hailed a hero after saving a three-your-old girl from the savage jaws of a crazed dog., _the story began.

"_No," _Malcolm heard his own voice whisper, "no, it's…. it's not possible…"

A snarl and a growl came from behind him and he spun around to find the jaws of an angry dog heading towards his neck.

Then…. _darkness._

Until he opened his eyes, safely sat up in bed with Susannah asleep beside him

"Oh Jesus," he breathed, climbing slowly out of bed with his head in his hands. He walked round in circles, muttering to himself , over and over again. He couldn't shake the images that he'd seen in his dream. They seemed so real. Simon and Keats, the newspaper headline, the vicious dog - an echo of the strange hallucination he'd experienced the day before. _"Shit," _he sank into a chair, "what the hell is happening to me?"

As he stared at his arms and saw how much they were trembling, he began to realise one thing His dream had been more than a random nightmare. Something inside him knew it held more weight than just random images and concepts.

Shards of the truth always hurt more than a lie.

~xXx~

At the foot of the bed, Simon saw something moving.

"_H-hello?" _he frowned.

As he watched, a black and white puppet poked its head up over the end of the bed.

"_Hello, Simon!" _it said brightly.

Simon screamed at the top of his lungs. It wasn't a face he'd expected to see.

"_Arrrggghhh! _Badger?" he cried

"_Wotcha_, Simon!" Badger cried, "where's Mousey? Have you seen her?"

"What…? No! I haven't!" Simon cried, outraged.

"Never mind," Badger said amiably, "D'you know what I like best?"

Simon rubbed his forehead.

"I don't much care!" he sighed, "and anyway, I don't think I'm the Simon you're looking for. You're probably looking for Bodger."

""No, I know where he is," said Badger, "he's on the floor with his hand up my bottom."

Simon shook is head in dispair. Why was it always puppets with him? In the eighties it was Gordon the Gopher, now Badger was the weapon of choice.

"Just go _away!" _he cried, "leave me alone!

"Do you know what I like best?" Badger repeated.

"No," sighed Simon.

"_Mashed potato!" _Badger cried.

Simon shook his head.

"However could I have forgotten?" he said sarcastically.

Badger ducked below the bed and re-emerged with a boiled potato in his mouth. He placed it on the bed and addressed Simon seriously.

"This is you _before_ the accident," he said, "…an d _this_ is you _after_ the accident!"

He ducked out of sight, popped back up with a large mallet in his mouth and began pounding away at the potato. It split into chunks which he continued to whack, each one splitting into hundreds of tiny potato fragments, flying through the air.

"_No!" _screamed Simon, unsure what horrified him most - the comparison with his physical condition or the splattered mashed potato all over the bed, walls and ceiling.

Badger was in his element.

"_Mashed potato, mashed potato, mashed potato…" _he sang happily as he continued to bash the remaining fragments into a pulp.

"_No!" _Simon screamed again. He launched himself out of bed and dived for the puppet, grabbing him and throwing him into the air, then peering down and expecting to see Bodger below, but instead a familiar man with a menacing smile and spectacles stared back.

"I think I make a good puppeteer" he sneered, "don't you?"

In that moment Simon awoke from his nightmare with a yell and a gasp of terror. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for some time, terrified of what he'd just seen so vividly in his nightmare. He breathed deeply until his pulse returned to normal and his fear began to settle down.

It took him several moments to realise he was alone in the bed. On the one hand that was a blessed relief because with no sign of Bodger, Badger or Keats so Simon knew he was wide awake, but on the other hand it meant that Robin had disappeared somewhere. A faint glow of the TV came from the lounge outside and he could hear a little murmur of sound from somewhere.

"Robin?" he said, rubbing his eyes. He slipped from the bed and began to pad slowly to the door. "Rob?"

As he opened the door and peered into the room beyond he found an image gracing the screen that he'd never wished to lay eyes on again. A violent act played out before him, orchestrated by a man he had come to know better. A man he'd learned could change with time. A man that he'd managed to find a little more respect for each time they spoke. The image on the screen almost set him back a lifetime.

Bathed in the flickering light of the screen, Robin sat on the couch staring at the TV, struck dumb and paralysed by the images before him. His expression was one of horror, fear, anxiety and confusion mixed together. As fast as his tired body would allow, Simon rushed across the room and plastered himself across the TV set as though to block a small child from seeing the most upsetting scene in Bambi.

"Robin, _no!" _he cried, "don't watch it!"

Robin looked at him with an empty gaze.

"I've already seen it three times," he whispered.

Simon realised his TV-blocking tactics were probably a little unnecessary and stepped away from the screen with a sigh. He knelt down and ejected the video tape. As it whirred and clicked its way out of the machine into his hands he could almost feel the same fear and dread emanating from the tape that he felt the last time he held it in his grasp. He turned to Robin who looked like a kid caught watching an 18-rated movie by his parents.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, "as if I couldn't guess."

Robin hung his head a little.

"I was going to tell you in the morning," he whispered, "I wanted to give you one good night's sleep before I told you."

Simon sat down beside him, still clinging to the tape. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at Robin.

"I knew something had happened," he said quietly.

"With everything he put you through I didn't know how to tell you he was back," Robin told him, "You went through hell with all the nightmares and the stalking and everything else he did. I didn't know how you would handle it."

Simon nodded slowly. He could see where he was coming from.

"When did you see him?" he asked.

"Last night, when I went out for air," Robin said quietly, "he was lurking. Waiting. He was the same guy that spoke to me the night before, on the bridge. I didn't recognise him because I'd only seen pictures of him on the database and the back of his head before. He must have been the one to ask for that damn song." he flinched, even thinking about it triggered the memories. "How did he know about it, Si? How does he know all that stuff?"

Simon let out his breath and turned to Robin.

"I think I might know," he said, "remember his job, back in two thousand and ten?" Robin nodded. "He'd have had access to all your records, your assessments, any counselling, therapy you went through. I'll bet your triggers were listed."

It made sense, Robin agreed. It certainly explained a lot.

"Why would he want me to see the tape?" he asked quietly

Simon shook his head slowly. It made a lot more sense when Simon was the one at the receiving end of the video. Robin had seen a different Gene to the one Simon had first met and the days of the violent Hunt on the video were a long way away nwo.

"To confuse you, maybe?" Simon suggested,, "to make you doubt how much you can trust the people you are working with?"

Robin looked down.

"I can't say that it's boosted my opinion" he said quietly.

"You _know_ Hunt's not the same man you saw on that tape," Simon began, "I can understand your worries because I went through them too and I kept thinking he was going to flip out at me like I saw him do there. But he's changed. I have seen that. Do you think he'd have brought you on board if he had a problem with you?"

"He'd have done anything to catch Nailer though."

"Yeah, and so would we," said Simon, "he didn't just bring you on board with the Nailer case, he recruited you to CID! He even bought us a drink last night… now as far as I can tell, that's the highest level or respect you can gain from Gene." He paused as he watched Robin thinking it through. "I've got to admit, when I came through and saw that tape…" He sighed, "I couldn't help feeling some of the things I used to about hi, worrying I'd end up like the guy on there. But I can't equate that man with the one I sat and talked to for hours in the car yesterday. Nor the one who turned a blind eye to your boot meeting with Nailer's side," he couldn't help but point out.

Robin blushed a little. He'd almost forgotten about at.

"I shouldn't have done that," he admitted.

"We all do things when we should know better," Simon admitted, remembering his actions in 1985 under the persuasion of Keats. His nightmare had been right about one thing - Keats made a good puppeteer.

"What are you doing up anyway?" Robin asked him.

Simon rubbed his head.

"Nightmare," he said.

Robin looked down.

"Me too," he said quietly.

"What was yours about?"

Robin put his head in his hands.

"Everything," he whispered, "all my life. My dad… your coma… Cassandra getting shot…" he shook his head. "I remembered things, Si. Things I'd blocked out for years. They started coming back in my nightmare. I remembered being in hospital after the police came. I remembered some of the things the doctors said, the TV in the room, even the colour of the sheets. I remembered the way he yelled, the things he said. They all stated coming back." He was grateful of Simon's arm slipping around his shoulders. "I haven't felt this scared in a very long time," he admitted. He looked up at Simon. "How about you?" he whispered, "what was yours about?"

Simon bit his lip.

"_Bodgerandbadger," _he said quickly.

"What?"

Simon flushed.

"Bodger and Badger," he said a little more clearly.

Robin stared at him

"The puppet?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The puppet with the mashed potato?"

Simon's red cheeks turned a deeper shade.

"Yes."

"That was a nightmare?"

"You didn't see it!" Simon protested, "I always hated that programme."

"It's still not a nightmare though."

"It had a Keats in it!" Simon protested.

They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating their dreams before Robin eventually said,

"What do you think Keats wants with me?"

"Probably the same thing he wanted from me," he began, "to bring down Hunt and CID."

"Why is he still obsessed with that?"

"He explained it to me that he was…. 'created' out of the opposite energy that Gene brought to this world," Simon began, "for all his faults Hunt wants to help. Keats appointed himself as the opposite of that. I think he believes if he brings down Gene's department he can take over this place. The eternal battle between good and bad would be won by the wrong side."

"After what he did to you… to both of us… he still thinks I'll help him?" Robin cried.

Simon rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know," he sighed, "I almost got the feeling he was a different person in two thousand and ten. He said some strange stuff about being in the wrong body. He'd gone crazy. Here, he seems… a different _type_ of crazy," that was the best he could explain it. He exhaled loudly. "He's behind my musical dedications, isn't he?"

Robin nodded slowly.

"I think so. He seems to have taken an interest in communication through the medium of music," he said.

"His requests… they were both geared toward letting me know he's determined not to let me leave this time," Simon said quietly.

"And mine was to let me know that he has all the information he needs to know about me to either get me on side or destroy me," Robin whispered.

They fell into silence for some time, the severity of the situation slowly starting to sink in. Eventually, when all the thinking was getting him nowhere, Simon got to his feet sand held out his hand.

"We're doing no good out here," he said, "come on. Let's go back to bed."

"I'm not going to sleep," Robin said quietly.

"We don't have to," Simon told him. His fingers clasped tightly around Robin's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Just come to bed."

Relieved to have Keats' presence out in the open, Robin nodded in agreement and they headed back to the bedroom. Nothing could touch them there. In each other's arms they were safe, and when the morning came they would face anything Keats could throw at them, knowing they were stronger than ever.

~xXx~

"_You're getting closer," _the voice whispered inside her head.

Susannah ran down the corridor, her feet beating against the ground. She turned a corner, climbed a flight of stairs and ran further still.

"_Keep looking," _the voice hissed, _"when you find me you'll find the truth."_

As she ran, Gene's voice echoed against the walls every so often;

_"Not needed this time, Kite."_

**Blam! **A blow to her confidence.

"_Did we tell you we made her DI? __Days like this make it difficult to remember why though…"_

**Blam! **Knock number two.

She ran as fast as she could, turning corners, leaping up and down stairs, checking in doorways.

"_Come on Susannah…. You're near… the truth is near…"_

Gene's voice burst through again at every turn.

"_She's one bandage short of a first-aid kit, that one"_

**Blam!**

"As a first aider she makes a very good GBH convict!"

**Blam!**

"I'd rather have me leg bandaged by Norman Bates!"

**BLAM!**

She could hardly take another insult. She turned another corner, the urgent voice getting closer.

"_Push through, Susannah, I've got the truth for you, if you're ready to hear it."_

One more corridor, one more door.

Hand on the handle, turning, turning slowly… opening…

A face. A glower.

"Find me and you find the answers you're looking for, DI Kite."

_Keats!_

Her instinct was to scream, to run, to get away but his voice through her dream was hypnotic and captivating.

"It's been a long time, Susannah… do you really remember things the way they happened or has time changed them?"

"You tried… you were going to… wanted to _kill _me!"

"Did I, Susannah? Did I really?" Keats removed his glasses, his eyes peering into her dream with sincerity. "I only wanted help, Susannah… I only wanted to live. And who took that away?"

Susannah couldn't speak. Couldn't say a word. Keats filled it in for her.

"_Hunt," _he whispered.

Susannah knew that was true. She knew it was absolutely true, but he'd been trying to save her life… he had, hadn't he?

_Hadn__'t_ he?

"How could I have been trying to kill you, Susannah? I'd just been hit by a car… I was fading fast. He made you think it happened that way. To keep you on his side."

"Why would he do that?"

"To keep the truth from coming out. Find me, Susannah," Keats whispered, "you need to know the truth. But I'll warn you, when you find it," he paused, "you're going to make a _very _grave discovery."

As Keats vanished, her whole viewpoint changed. Laying down, on the ground, deep inside some kind of pit, staring up at the blue sky. Above her, a shovel came into view, the metal catching the light fro the sun, then a moment later its load of soil tumbled from it down onto Susannah's face, taking away her vision, sending it to black.

With a gasp of shock and fear she forced herself awake and grasped the covers of her bed so tightly she thought her finger nails might go right through the material. Trembling, she turned over to hug Malcolm, to snuggle up against his skin and let her worries slip away but she found he was gone.

"Mal?" she hissed, blinking to adjust to the darkness. When no reply came she slowly rose from the bed and slipped her feet into her slippers, then tiptoed out of the bedroom.

The kitchen light was on as Macolm sat at the table, head his hands. Susannah cleared her throat gently to get his attention without making him jump and as he glanced up they both saw fear across each other's faces.

"Susie?" he rubbed his eyes, "are you OK?"

"I was going to ask you that," Susannah said quietly.

She joined him at the table and noticed the brandy bottle and oversized glass on the table.

"Nightcap?" he offered.

Susannah nodded.

"Yes please," she whispered.

Malcolm stood up and fetched another glass for her, then poured them each a healthy measure. He sat back down and they both sipped from their glasses, both loaded with things to say but neither knowing quite how to phrase them. Finally Malcolm broke the silence.

"Did you have a nightmare too?"

Susannah looked at him in surprise for a moment, wondering how he knew, then nodded very slowly.

"I did," she whispered, "you?"

Malcolm nodded too.

"Did yours have a dog in it?" he asked.

Susannah spluttered, mid-sip, and shook her head. That had been a pretty random question.

"No," she said, pausing for a moment. "Mine had a large shovel though."

Malcolm looked at her with dark, anxious eyes

"I think I'm going crazy, Susannah," he whispered, "I dreamed about this strange flat. Everything was different… weird. The telly was really thin, looked like it would fall over if someone sneezed on it. Simon was there." he paused, "He was… he was in bed with DCI Keats."

For the second time in as many minutes, Susannah spluttered.

"Malcolm, what kind of dream were you _having?" _she cried.

"No, Susie, listen," Malcolm urged her, "please take this seriously. It… didn't feel like a dream. I felt like I was spying in someone's home. It felt like I was looking round Simon's flat. He was in bed with Keats, and there was a…." his voice trembled, "a newspaper. I saw the headline on the front."

Susannah waited for hi to go on.

"What did it say?" she whispered eventually.

Malcolm hung his head.

"There was a photograph of me on it," he whispered.

"Yes?"

"It said I was dead," he choked out the words, "killed by a dog. 'Savaged', as they put it. Susie, that dog I saw yesterday… it was in the dream too."

Susannah bit her lip.

"Do you think you're… foreseeing your death?" she whispered.

Malcolm shook his head and breathed out loudly.

"It didn't feel like that," he said quietly, "It was more like a flashback. Like it had already happened."

"But you're _here_," Susannah took his hand, "you're alive. Look."

Malcolm was grateful for her gentle touch but it did little to take away the horror that still raged through his mind.

"I don't want to think about it any more," he whispered.

Susannah nodded.

"OK," she whispered.

Malcolm looked at her seriously.

"What happened in yours?" he asked.

Susannah flapped her hand dismissively.

"I'm not sure I want to think about it either," she said.

"Come on," Malcolm urged, "I told you mine."

Susannah took a sip of her drink and stared at the table. She was embarrassed talking about her own dreams and wasn't sure how to explain it.

"Just running through the station, that's all," she whispered, "going down corridors and stairs. Looking for someone."

"Who?"

"No one."

"There had to be someone."

Susannah didn't want to say the 'K' word. It was bad enough that her fiancé had been dreaming about him in bed with DCI Shoebury. She decide to skip to the end.

"Anyway," she said quietly, "then I was in a hole in the ground and someone shovelled some soil on my head. The soil hitting me woke me up with a start. That's when I came and found you."

Malcolm shuddered.

"Sounds horrible," he whispered.

Susannah didn't want to think about _her_ dream any more, either. She picked up her glass and slowly got to her feet.

"Do you want to take these to bed?" she whispered, "I could do with warming up under the covers."

Malcolm gave her a crooked smile and stood up slowly. He lifted his glass and reached for her hand.

"I can't think of anywhere I'd feel safer," he whispered.

As they set off to bed once again neither thought they would garner another ounce of sleep from that night but in the end both slipped into a dreamless slumber wrapped in each other's arms. They were each other's security and, in a world that had suddenly turned upside down, that was all they needed.

~xXx~

Gene Hunt didn't 'do' dreams.

He didn't have them, much less have nightmares.

OK, so maybe he had the odd one. Maybe one a year or so. He'd had a couple about Malcolm's suit recently but that was only to be expected.

So when the dream hit him out of the blue it took him by surprise.

It was a hospital room; an unfamiliar, clinical, cold environment. In the bed there was a still body, chest rising and falling but otherwise motionless. He took a step closer and through the surrounding machines he recognised the face of the woman he knew so very well.

"_Bolly."_

For a moment he thought he saw her open her eyes, but before he could get a proper look his vision spun around and he found himself in front of a building. His eyes travelled up from the ground to the walls then right up to the roof. The sign hanging outside sent a shiver down his spine. As the door opened and a familiar face looked out with a smile he turned and walked away from it.

"_Not my time yet," _he mumbled, the _Railway Arms _sign creaking and rocking in the breeze.

As he paced away as quickly as he could he suddenly found himself back in the hospital room. A yonng girl, somewhere in her early teens, looked up at him from the bedside.

"Can you send her home now?" she asked hopefully.

Those words caused Gene to wake in his bed, his eyes flying open and fists clenching as hard as they could. Instinctively he reached out for Alex but she wasn't there.

"_Bollocks!" _he cried, tumbling out of bed and rushing out of the room.

His fears were immediately calmed when he found her sitting quietly on the couch, wrapped in a dressing gown, bad arm resting across her knees. She looked pale and drawn as he arrived.

"Gene?" she said quietly, "what's the matter?"

Gene looked behind him as though expecting to find the dream still lurking in the background.

"Err, oh…" he struggled for words, "I was just checking for burglars. Light-fingered types. You know." He hesitated. "Thought someone had half-inched yer, Bols. Woke up… no Alex there."

Alex looked down.

"Sorry," she said quietly, "I had a nightmare and it didn't agree with me."

She pushmed her hair away fro her face as Gene joined her on the couch.

"You look as pasty as Malcolm when Lady Big Bum fro the canteen threw a bag of flour at him," he commented, "you OK?"

Alex nodded.

"What about you?" she asked, "you don't usually get up in the middle of the night. Sometimes it's hard enough waking you up in the morning!"

Gene pulled a face, not sure what to say. Finally he simply answered,

"Next time you feel like going for a wander in the middle of the night… tell me first. OK?"

Alex looked at him blankly.

"OK," she repeated, "Do you mind if I ask why?"

Gene mumbled something about vanishing, Sam Tyler and a tunnel and needing a drink before heading off to the kitchen to find one. On his return he marched to the bedroom door and motioned with his head.

"Need you back in bed with me," he said, "so I can keep an eye on you. Lot of shifty types around these days. They'll rob a bloke's girlfriend right out the house if you're not careful."

Alex felt disturbed by Gene's anxiety. It wasn't like him. She'd rarely seen him like that. Whatever had set him off, she knew was between Gene and his unconscious mind. Gene Hunt may claim not to 'do' dreams but Alex knew better. She'd slept by his side enough times to know otherwise.

"Back to bed then," she said quietly, pausing to lay a warm hand against his cheek on the way back to the bedroom.

Gene cleared his throat.

"Might have to use a pair of handcuffs just to make sure you don't disappear again," he commented.

"Don't push it," Alex admonished with a smile.

Gene raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds like a challenge to me," he commented.

~xXx~

Six people

Three couples.

Six nightmares.

One sleepless night.

By the time the morning came and all had finally drifted back so sleep, three alarm clocks went off at almost the exact same moment. As _Dancing with Tears in my Eyes_ by Ultravox played on the radio, six people across three homes sat in silence, listening to the words. Maybe they were all putting a little too much stock on the lyrics of a song, but music seemed to have brought myriad messages over the last two days and here was another one not to ignore.

As the song came to an end six people were left in no doubt that whatever was about to befall them was the end of everything they thought they knew.

"D-Day," whispered Susannah.

~xXx~

_Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>Weeping for the memory of a life gone by.<br>Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>living out a memory of a love that died.<br>_

_It's five and I'm driving home again.  
>It's hard to believe that it's my last time.<br>The man on the wireless cries again - it's over  
>it's over.<em>

_Dancing with the tears in my eyes  
>Weeping for the memory of a life gone by.<br>Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>living out a memory of a love that died.<em>

_It's late and I'm with my love alone  
>We drink to forget the coming storm.<br>We love to the sound of our favourite song: over and over.  
><em>

_Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>Weeping for the memory of a life gone by.<br>Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>living out a memory of a love that died.<em>

It's time and we're in each others arms  
>It's time but I don't think we really care.<p>

_Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>Weeping for the memory of a life gone by.<br>Dancing with tears in my eyes  
>living out a memory of a love that died…<em>


	29. Chapter 28: Happy Painting & God Bless

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

"Hi there, and welcome to the show."

Bob Ross's soft voice and warm smile soothed Robin and Simon's emotions as they let _The Learning Channel _play away in the background. Neither was in the mood for breakfast. With little sleep and much to worry about cornflakes were not a high priority.

Bob Ross was a pleasant distraction. Robin remembered studying his techniques during his short-lived phase of wanting to become an artist, a plan scuppered when a freak art-supply incident left him with a phobia of paintbrushes and a very sore ear.

"_We're just going to run all the colours you need for today's painting across the bottom of the screen," _Bob told them, _"and I thought today we'd just do a lovely, beautiful sunrise."_

As he began smothering the sky with tones of pink and yellow from his two-inch brush Robin sipped his coffee and asked Simon,

"How's your wrist?"

Simon flexed it a little.

"A bit tender," he said, "It's Terry I feel sorry for. He's going to have a Gene Hunt-sized bruise this morning." He sighed. "I'm more annoyed about my watch."

"Get Hunt to buy you a new one as compensation," Robin suggested.

Simon have a gentle laugh.

"It was hard enough getting a drink out of him," he commented, "the only watch he's likely to give me is one he got free out last year's Christmas Cracker."

Bob Ross got out his fan brush and began working on his clouds. Loading his brush with tones of purple and grey he began putting colour over colour.

"_And we're just going to go right in here with our fan brush," _he said_, "just push up along here like this. Wherever you like. Just… wherever…" _He finished his first cloud, then turned to the camera and smiled. _"Let's give him a little friend."_

They saw him start work on the second cloud and watched in silence for a few moments before Simon spoke again.

"We have to tell Alex and Hunt about Keats," he said, "they need to know."

Robin nodded slowly.

"I've just got this awful feeling about today," he said quietly, "this feeling of dread."

"About Keats?"

"I don't know. But there's something. Something in the air."

"You're starting to sound like an episode of The X Files," Simon commented.

Robin opened his mouth to reply but hesitated. Something in Simon's words seemed to stir something deep within his memory but he wasn't sure what it was. He felt like it was right on the edge of remembering but couldn't quite reel in the thought. He must have developed a strange expression because Simon eventually had to ask him what was wrong. Robin shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he said quietly, "something almost came to me."

"What about?"

"It's… I don't know," Robin sighed, "it sounds stupid, it was when you said I sounded like I was in the X Files."

"Don't go shaving your head and calling yourself Skinner," Simon advised, giving up ion the cornflakes and getting up to take his bowl to the sink.

Robin sighed and stood up too.

"Probably lack of sleep messing with my head," he commented.

Back on the screen, Bob Ross put the finishing touches to his dramatic sky; vibrant purple clouds against an iridescent yellow and pink sky.

"It's all up to you," he said gently, "it's your canvas. You can make it look any way you want. Any way at all. It's your decision."

Simon called an end to his artistic advice, switching the TV set off and pulling on his jacket.

"Are you coming to CID or do you have to report to your soon-to-be-ex-Sergeant first?" he asked.

Robin sighed.

"I wouldn't be in this stupid, ancient uniform if I didn't have to go there first," he said "Gene said I've got to report to that Sergeant first, then he's going to come down and officially square the transfer," He paused. "I'm not exactly sure what that's going to entail but going by the way he got me for the Nailer stake-out yesterday there might be items being shoved up noses involved."

Simon decided not to ask.

"You ready?" he asked.

Robin nodded.

"Ready," he said.

They left the flat together, relieved to find no strange packages this time, and set off for work but immediately they found their eyes drawn upwards.

Around them, the most beautiful sunrise stole their breath and their attention. Up in the sky, tones of yellow and pink stretched out beyond trees and buildings while bold purple clouds, so perfect they could almost have been placed there by an artist, stretched across the morning canvas. The dramatic tones and colours stopped them in their tracks, a mirror-image of the painting they'd just switched off inside.

"Oh my god," Simon breathed, taking in the bizarre sight. It wasn't just a coincidence or a similar sky, it was the same down to the smallest detail.

Robin shivered.

"We paint our own canvas," he whispered.

Simon reached out and took his hand. He squeezed it with real determination and said,

"Today is the day we're going to wake up."

Robin gave his reply as a slow nod, anxious for Simon's statement to be true. If they truly could create the painting of their life in any way they wanted then this day was going to see the end of their time in 1995.

~xXx~

Over the breakfast table Gene observed Alex pushing a soggy weetabix around the bowl, clutching her midsection every now and then.

"You alright, Drakey?" he asked, a little nervously.

"Fine," Alex said quietly.

"What is it this time? Poisoned weetabix?" He watched her ignoring him and stepped it up a gear to get a reaction, "impaled yerself on the bog roll holder? Can't be time of the month because you'd have bitten me head off by now."

"Gene!"

"Then why are you holding your gut like you're auditioning for a diarrhoea advert?"

"I'm not," Alex mumbled. As she thought about the pain she kept feeling she began to realise where it was located. Slipping her fingers inside her blouse she felt a familiar scar just in front of the area. "What the… _huh." _she frowned.

Gene spotted the location of her hand and momentarily lost himself in thoughts that it might be about to head south but unfortunately Alex had no such plans and withdrew it looking thoughtful and a little anxious.

"Now what?" he asked.

Alex went back to her weetabix.

"It's nothing," she insisted, but her mind began to race. She rarely thought about the scar on her stomach, the place Gene's bullet had penetrated. It didn't bother her, it had become less noticeable and while chasing crooks day in and day out she didn't exactly get the tome for lapping up the sun in a bikini. The only time her attention ever came back to it was every now and then in the bedroom when Gene would have an attack of guilt while they were enjoying theselves and try to cover it up to take away the reminder of his rogue shot.

Her mind ran over the possibilities. Why would it be hurting out of the blue? Why now? She remembered the deeper layer her coma entered with his shot, believing she was back home. She recalled her dream from the night before and the words she heard while in her slumber. An anxious thought surfaced that she could be going one of two ways - deeper or out. Both possibilities scared her beyond words.

She glanced at Gene, unaware his tie had dangled in his fried egg and staring at her with concern. She decided to change the subject.

"What did you dream about, Gene?"

Gene looked a little shocked by her question.

"What are you waffling about, Bols?"

"Last night," Alex picked up her spoon again, "what did you dream about?"

"I told you before, Gene Hunt doesn't do dreams."

"Must have been pretty bad to wake you up."

"It did _not_ wake me up!"

"Ahh, so you admit there was a dream," Alex smirked. She watched Gene fishing his tie out of the yolk and swearing profusely. "I know you've dreamed before," she said, "I've heard you talking in your sleep."

"Well I never get a bloody word in edgeways during the day with you, woman," Gene said, wiping his tie on the table, "it's the only chance I get to talk!"

"You sang three verses of _The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore_ last week," Alex smiled.

Gene looked at her, wondering if she was winding him up or whether he'd really done such a thing but couldn't tell whether she was innocent or not.

"Well," he began, "since I'm not planning to join the Fenchurch East Male Voice Choir any time soon I'm glad my musical talent hasn't gone to waste."

Alex watched him polish off the last of his egg and discard the plate in the sink without the good grace of rinsing it off first.

"You can tell me, you know," she said, "your dream. If you want to."

"I'll tell you post-coitally in the back of the Fiat," said Gene.

Alex gave a half-hearted retort but her mind wasn't really on their usual banter. Her anxieties about her own dream, Gene's unspoken nightmare and their musical torment courtesy of Keats were weighing her down. She was in no mood for interrogating Nailer later either but had little choice.

Trying to ignore the various body parts that were giving her trouble she got to her feet and deserted the half-eaten weetabix. They cleared a few pieces of crockery away then scooted out of the door in near silence, barely registering the hazy blue sky above them or the glorious, intact rainbow stretching over them like a handle on the world.

_Time to face the music, _Alex thought. _Possibly literally._

~xXx~

"We need to decide what to do," Malcolm said quietly.

Susannah nodded, totally uninterested in her toast.

"I've been thinking this through," she said, "and I think we've got four options."

Malcolm was glad to hear that. Thinking wasn't his strong point.

"Go on."

"First option: we talk to the Guv," Susannah began, "tell him we know something is going on. Tell him we know Keats is back. Demand to know what the truth of the matter is."

Malcolm shuddered.

"Don't much like the thought of confronting him," he said.

"Option two, do nothing," said Susannah, "go to work, pretend nothing's happened, Forget what we heard. Go on about our work and put the whole thing down to temporary insanity."

Malcolm shook his head slowly.

"I don't think I could do that" he said quietly.

"Neither do I," Susannah agreed, "OK, option three - we find Keats."

"Already hating this option," said Malcolm.

"We track him down through the number Kim called, confront him and find out why he's back and what he's doing."

"Hated that one more as it went on."

"Alright" sighed Susannah, "final option. Talk to Kim. Tell her we overheard her yesterday, tell her about Keats's history and demand some answers."

Malcolm hesitated.

"What if she tells Hunt we were in his office?"

"She doesn't have to know that," said Susannah, "we don't have to tell her where we were listening in from. Besides, she's the one who's been consorting with Jim Keats. She can hardly dob us in."

"Dob us in? How old are you, twelve?"

Susannah gave a tiny smile.

"What do you thinking?"

Malcolm stood up.

"I think," he began, "that we have a plan."

Susannah nodded.

"I agree," she said.

Malcolm set his face in a grim but determined expression.

"Ready to find the truth?" he asked

"As I'll ever be," said Susannah.

That was the last word either of them spoke as they set about their final preparations for work. Their dreams fro the night before were still playing through their minds and all that they'd discovered the previous day was fresh and raw. They knew that whatever lay ahead for them might bring answers they didn't really want to know, but they also knew they couldn't go on in blissful ignorance.

A grey sky greeted them as they left home, clouds masking any sign of the sun. It echoed their emotions and stole the thoughts right out of their minds. It was time to find out for sure who - or what - they truly were, and that thought terrified them more than facing 1,000 clones of Jim Keats.

_**~xXx~**_

_**Paying tribute in this chapter to my personal hero, Bob Ross, a great inspiration to me in my art. I spent much of late 1995 watching reruns of The Joy of Painting on TLC on good ol' Nynex cable TV. I would like to think that if there is a Gene Hunt of the artist world then Bob Ross is the one to oversee the world of troubled artists.**_


	30. Chapter 29: Tapes, Traps and Tension

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

"Just be cool, pretend everything's fine," Susannah whispered, "When Kim gets in I'll ask her to take some papers for duplication and we'll follow her to the photocopy room. We'll confront her in private."

Malcolm tried to look a little less shifty behind his Jarvis Cocker glasses.

"I hope she arrives soon," he said, "I just want to get this over with."

They both ducked their heads as a grumpy and egg-stained Gene stormed into the office. His gaze scanned the room before he barked,

"No sign of Metal Mickey?"

"Not yet, Guv," said Malcolm.

Susannah found herself quite unable to meet his glare. Aside from her anxiety about anything that Gene may or may not know about dogs, shovels and stars, all the insults he'd cast her way that her nightmare resurrected came back to her. She knew he was the same with everyone and that no one was spare from the sharp tongue of the Manc Lion but taking her off the Nailer case had been a step too far

"You got a problem, Kite?" he asked.

Susannah looked away.

"No, Guv."

Gene began to respond but the sight of Simon rushing through the door stopped him in his tracks.

"Your Olympic-speed entrances are getting to be a habit," he said.

Simon arrived breathlessly beside him.

"We need to talk," he said urgently.

"Again?"

Simon glanced around, trying to shield his words from the rest of the office and hissed,

"Keats introduced himself to Robin last night."

Gene stared at Simon. He hoped he'd misheard.

"He did, did he?"

Simon nodded.

"He brought a video to share with him."

Gene almost flinched a Simon's words, How many times was that tape going to come back to haunt him? He swallowed audibly.

"Right then," he said, "you know where I keep the refreshments. Scotch, two glasses, I'll ask DCI Drake to join us for an informative chat about this matter."

"Right," Simon said a little nervously. He watched Gene leave then walked into his office, ignoring the strange stares that Susannah and Malcolm were throwing his way.

The door of Gene's office opened wide without a touch from Simon, a strange energy enveloping him and sending a shiver down his spine. He made his way to the cabinet he'd seen Gene fetch his bottle from in the past and found a couple of glasses too. He set them on the desk and poured drinks for Gene and Alex, then set the bottle down beside them and walked slowly back into the depths of CID. He noticed Malcolm giving him a strange look.

"Everything OK, Malcolm?" he asked.

Malcolm couldn't shift the image from his dream of Simon and Keats. He swallowed nervously.

"Sir, I… _did _understand this right didn't I," he began, "you are gay?"

"Yes," Simon frowned, "why?"

"And that PC… Robin… he's your… _partner?"_

Simon's frown grew a little deeper.

"Yes_, why?"_

Malcolm hesitated. He wasn't sure himself where he was going with this.

"Have you ever been unfaithful?"

"What? No!" Simon cried indignantly.

"What colour duvet have you got?"

Simon was so shocked and confused by his line of questioning that he practically tripped over his tongue.

"What does it matter?" he cried, "Malcolm, are you…" he dropped his voice, making sure Susannah was a fair distance away, "are you trying to come onto me? Because I'll tell you now, your technique could use some improvement."

"No!" cried Malcolm, "I was just making conversation, that's all."

Simon took a step back/

"Well… _don't!" _he cried.

Malcolm hesitated.

"Do you like… newspapers at all?" he tried.

Simon rolled his eyes and took another step back.

"They're OK," he said, "I think I will especially be checking the _job section _tonight…"He felt relieved to see Gene return with a pale Alex in tow.

"Kite, why are the Miller papers still not on my desk?"

"Maybe because they're sitting on mine?" Susannah said sarcastically.

"Is that any way to talk to you DCI?"

"It's how I talk to him today," Susannah mumbled.

Gene looked at her, aghast, as she left the room.

Simon shuffled towards Gene and asked nervously,

"Why is Malcolm grilling me about my home décor, sexual preferences and reading material?"

"No idea," said Gene, "why is Kite treating me like I just crawled out the khazi?"

Simon shook his head.

"Not a clue."

Gene almost smiled to himself as he watched Simon walk ahead of them, into his office. He remembered ten years earlier when an annoying young nerd by the name of Shoebury had arrived in his office. If Alex hadn't decided to return then they'd have been partners, in a work sense of course. He couldn't have imagined working alongside him back then. The Gene and Simon of 1985 would never have gelled as a team. Not the way he had with Alex or with Sam Tyler. But now, as time and experience had changed them both, he could see them getting along quite well. It surprised him to realise that.

He followed Simon with Alex trailing behind cautiously, afraid that Susannah would see her looking unwell and offer some additional first aid but luckily her annoyance at Gene had caused her to leave without noticing.

Gene took one look at Simon's bar skills and tutted.

"You call those proper measures?" he mumbled, topping them up.

Simon glanced at Alex.

"You look awful," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Thank you for your tact and consideration, Simon," Alex rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Simon cringed out his apology.

"She's just bellyaching about her belly ache, that's all," said Gene, "and telling lies about me night-time habits." He sat down and indicated for Simon to do the same. "What news you got for us, Shoebury?"

Simon noticed that Gene was using his name more often than not now. He rarely received a shoe-related insult over the last 24 hours.

"Last night Keats accosted Robin," he began, he went outside to get some air… I'd have been out there with him but I was trying to pull _someone's_ foot out the steps." He watched Gene blush a little. "He gave Robin the tape, the same one he gave me when I was here before. Robin didn't even want to tell me about it because he knew what Keats put me through in two thousand and ten, didn't want to bring that back. I caught him watching the tape in the middle of the night and he told me everything."

"What does Keats want with Robin?" Alex asked not sure if anyone could offer up an answer or not.

"We spent hours trying to work that out," Simon sighed, "basically, Keats seems to want to get him on side and turn him against CID. He was the one who gave Robin the photos of Nailer. Trying to win his trust. It's like he's forgotten what he put us through back home."

"Maybe he has," Alex said quietly, "he's dead now. His memory might not be what it once was." she paused, "he definitely is dead, isn't he?"

"Believe me, he is very dead," said Simon.

Gene lifted his glass.

"So Keats wants Robin to join his side," he considered, "why? What could he want with Robin?" he stood up and started pacing around like Columbo about to reveal the murderer, "he knows Robin is a stranger here. He has history with you. Knows you two are…" he hesitated.

"..Insert homophobic joke here," Simon supplied for him.

Gene gave a cough.

"…exactly. He obviously knows enough to have realised he's joining CID. If past form is anything to go by our friend Jimbo is going to try to take some good people for his own mucky purpose."

"Why is he so dead set on taking you down?" Simon asked.

Gene sipped his whiskey and stared into the glass.

"Because he likes an impossible challenge," he said.

Alex fingered her glass but didn't lift it.

"We had a message from DCI Keats last night too," she told Simon, "a dedication. It was a particular song."

"We've got a… bit of history with it," Gene said uncomfortably, "and he knows that _we_ know only _he_ knows about it."

Simon struggled to follow that last sentence but caught enough of the gist of it to agree.

"He was behind my requests as well," he said, "I'm pretty sure of it. He must have requested Robin's trigger song too."

"All these dedications and not one Wham song amongst them," sighed Gene.

"Please don't bring up the Andrew Ridgeley thing again!" Simon pleaded. He paused. "Is it worth talking to the DJ? Could he be a part of it?"

"We spoke to him last night," said Alex, "scared us off with a free BeeGees CD but aside from that he seems genuine. We've seen him at the club for about six months on and off now. I don't think he's involved."

"Six months?" Simon repeated, "this club…. _Bask_… I take it it's your usual haunt?"

"Has been for a few years," said Alex, "a couple of nights a week. Sometimes the French restaurant around the corner. Sometimes _Latte Land_."

"So Keats would know you are likely to be there often?"

"Probably, why?"

"Trying to work out whether he's been following you, has inside information or just making a lucky guess," said Simon.

"It could be any one of the three," sighed Alex.

"He seems to want to play secret spy games with coded musical messages," Gene said thoughtfully, "if that's how he wants to play it we'd better give him a chance to give us the next bit of his script."

"Oh, not karaoke three nights in a row," groaned Alex, "after the whole… _'foot trapping incident'_" she used one-sided air-quotes with her good hand, "I'm surprised you'd be able to show your face there again so soon!"

"Needs must as the devil drives," said Gene, cursing his own choice of words.

"And anyway," Alex continued, "it will seem a bit strange going three nights in a row. We usually go when there's something to celebrate."

"Think we can come up with something to celebrate by eight this evening?" asked Gene, "Drake? Shoebury?" Two blank faces stared back. "Anyone got a birthday? Something else to celebrate? Births, deaths, marriages?"

After a few silent moments Simon snapped his fingers.

"Robin's promotion," he suggested.

Gene nodded.

"Fine. Tonight's Batman's CID initiation. Tell 'im to bring a pair of Wellington boots, a helmet and a spare pair of underpants."

Simon began to regret making his suggestion.

"Alright," he said cautiously, "so until then… what do we do?"

"Well, I'm not wasting any time trying to catch the rat when the rat can find his own way to the trap," said Gene, "keep your eyes peeled for strange men in long coats. Bolly, take Shoebury and start a new round of questioning for our friend Nick Nailer. We need details of his supply chain, his next shipment and the location of the bulk of his merchandise. I'll pay a visit to Sergeant Wank-Face and get Batman into the fold ASAP."

Alex got to her feet. Despite feeling like she was falling apart at the seams she was starting to become more interested in grilling Nailer and anxious to get some fast results.

"I'll let you have the first Nailer pun," she promised Simon.

Simon smiled with genuine enthusiasm.

"I appreciate that!" he said. He began to follow her from the room, but at the last moment he stopped and turned back to Gene. Extracting an object from inside his jacket he laid it down on the desk. Gene looked at it with trepidation.

"I can guess what this is," he said, "and I'm not thinking it's your holiday video from last year."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"I think you should keep this," he said quietly, "remind you of how far you've come."

Gene watched him leave, a strange feeling settling over him. Hs first instinct had been to put Simon in his place for patronising him, but he realised quickly that he was grateful for his gesture. As much as Gene knew there were many ways in which he would never change he also knew that he really had come a long way. Maybe it was time he learned to take a compliment.

Throwing the rest of the whiskey down his neck he got to his feet, tucked the tape into his drawer and straightened his eggy tie.

"Time to turn on the Bat Signal and get myself a new recruit," he sighed. He couldn't help smirking as he thought about the snooty sergeant and a hundred different ways to wipe the smile off his face. He was really going to enjoy this.


	31. Chapter 30: No Comment

**Chapter Thirty**

Nailer eyed Simon angrily as he found himself sitting opposite a pair of DCIs.

"You're the prat who pulled my trousers down!" he cried.

Simon had forgotten about that.

"Slight wardrobe malfunction on your part," he said.

"I could sue you for sexual harassment!"

"State of your baggy trousers, I could sue you for crimes against fashion," said Simon as he started the tape. "Interview commencing…" he glanced at his watch, "eleven forty-eight a.m."

"No, Simon," Alex glanced at the clock on the wall, "it's nine twenty-three."

"Damn," Simon cursed, "forgot about my watch." he paused, "for the benefit of the tape, my name is DCI Shoebury; also present is DCI Drake . Could the suspect now sate his full name for the tape?"

Nailer leaned a little forward, a slightly menacing smile across his face.

"Nicholas Anthony Nailer," he said.

"And to confirm for the tape, you have waived your right to an attorney?"

"That's right."

Simon went on to confirm various things 'for the tape', including the fact that Nailer had stuck two fingers up at him, before proceeding with the questioning. He held up a large packet of pills in an evidence bag.

"For the benefit of the tape I am showing the suspect a quantity of tablets confirmed to be Ecstasy."

"A small treat for my own personal use," Nailer smiled.

"We know this is the tip of the iceberg," Simon informed him, "we also have varying amounts of five additional substances found in the warehouse known as Kingsgate in the thought-to-be disused area of Montana Yard. We found enough goodies to bring in about eight thousand pounds on a good night, but we know your stock runs into much greater quantities. Would you like to tell us where your merchandise is kept?"

"No comment."

"Make things easier on yourself and tell us now. We _will_ find out eventually. We have access to all your records and computer files."

"You have nothing."

Alex straightened in her seat and held up another item.

"I am now showing the suspect a small leather-bound diary containing entries made up of different numbers, letters and colours. Can you tell us what the various coded entries mean?"

Nailer shrugged.

"Horse races," he said.

"Horse races?"

"Yeah. Odds. Times. Winnings."

"So the same horses keep running week after week, some several times a week?"

Nailer shrugged.

"I can't remember every horse I bet on."

"You are aware that we will check out any information you give us here?"

"I'd be disappointed of you didn't."

"What about these entries in black," Simon began, "which contain two numbers?"

"Dog racing."

"They appear to have a quantity and what seems to be a price."

"They're odds."

Alex laid down the diary and picked up another bag, this one containing some paperwork.

"I am now showing Mister Nailer documents relating to the owndership of a vehicle. Yesterday several police vehicles were involved in the pursuit of a car registered to your name. We have the log book here."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Can you explain why police followed your car for twenty minutes, during which time you refused to stop?"

"It wasn't me. It was stolen."

"Then can you explain how the same car was driven by yourself through the wall of the building at Montana Yard?"

"I found it again," shrugged Nailer.

Simon lifted another bag from the floor to show him.

"And for the benefit of the tape I am now showing the suspect a number of bank statements for accounts registered to the same address as his car. We found these at Montana Yard. Can you explain the fact that they are in five different names, each one receiving thousands of pounds of cash deposits every month?"

Nailer bit his lip. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at Simon.

"I'd like to speak to a lawyer."

"You waived you right to legal representation."

"I didn't waive my right to change my mind."

Simon sighed. He leaned back, frustrated and angry. He was determined that, for whatever part Keats had to play in the matter, it was Nailer's arrest that would secure their ticket home. Since catching him hadn't seen himself and Robin arrive home he felt sure that a successful interrogation would bring him back to 2010.

"Interview suspended."

"…At nine twenty nine," Alex concluded.

Simon glared at Nailer as he and Alex prepared to find Nailer some legal representation. Back home he hadn't even been involved in the investigation. His only involvement had been the possibility of co-ordinating the recovery of his computerised records at the last minute.

In 1995, taking down Nailer was the only thing on his mind.

~xXx~

Gene walked briskly back to CID with Robin in tow. As he came to a halt he realised he could hear two sets of footsteps following him. He had no doubt in his mind to whom the second pair belonged.

"_Right!"_ he began crossly, spinning around. His suspicions had been correct. "PC Thomas Cloth-Ears, this is your final warning. If I ever see you in my domain again I will personally disconnect your limbs one by one and stitch them into an interesting but non-mobile arrangement so you can never climb the stairs to CID again. Is that clear?"

Thomas gulped audibly.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir," he mumbled an made a speedy exit.

Gene sighed, muttered a few obscenities under his breath and finally turned to Robin.

"Now your shadow has disappeared," he began, "time to clear up a couple of points. Shoebury says Keats gave you an interesting tape last night."

Robin's eyes looked downward for a moment

"Yes, Sir," he said quietly.

Gene nodded slowly.

"You still want to work for me?" he began.

Robin looked Gene in the eye.

"I can't equate you with the man on that tape," he said quietly, "_whatever_ Keats tries to make me believe. Yes, I want to work for you."

Gene nodded and cleared his throat gruffly.

"Good," he said, then hesitated for a moment. "How much do you actually know about DCI Jim Keats?"

Robin took a deep breath, his blood boiling.

"Enough to know I'd like to kill his evil, putrid self," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Gene gave a smirk.

"That's the perfect amount," he said, "Welcome to the team." He extended his arm to Robin who shook his hand a little nervously.

Gene was relieved to have Robin on side. From piecing together fragments of conversations he'd come to realise that Robin just might be the one person to hate Keats with the same level of passion as himself. Being attacked by someone is one thing. Seeing someone you care about attacked by them takes things to a completely different level.

"What is _happening_ with Keats, exactly?" Robin asked, saying 'Keats' like he'd just taken a bite out of a maggot-infested piece of fruit.

"We're hoping he might come out of hiding to dedicate more songs in our blessed honour tonight," Gene began, "so it's back to the Karaoke bar." he paused as he saw Simon and Alex trudging in their direction. "You might want to bring a few things for your initiation. I'll leave Shoe-boy to bring you up to speed on that." He slapped Robin patronisingly on the shoulder and made to walk away but Alex called him back.

"Guv, wait," she began, "some news about Nailer."

"Oh yeah?" Gene stopped in his tracks, "dropped his trousers again?"

"He's changed his mind and asked for legal representation," said Simon.

"And it's a bit awkward," Alex bit her lip nervously, "They've sent Evan."

Gene froze on the spot for a moment. A pinprick of remembered jealously began to emerge from somewhere in the depths of his mind. He recalled the closeness that had passed between Alex and Evan some years earlier and the thought of his smarmy little smug smile worming its way back into her life made him want to crush a lot of objects under his boots.

"Oh goody," he began sarcastically, "just who I wanted to see back on the job."

"You'll have to take over the interview," Alex told him.

Gene frowned a little.

"What?"

"Gene, _'little Alex' _isn't so little any more. Enough time will have passed for Evan not to see the similarity in her… in _me…_ to the Alex he met in nineteen eighty one. But seeing me again now, he's going to find it a little… uncanny, to say the least."

Gene tried his best to suppress a smirk.

"You got a point, Bols," he said, "I didn't think about that. You got all this paradox stuff worked out to the letter, haven't you?"

"So have we just given up pretending everything's all real and hunky-dory in front of Robin completely now?" cried Simon, flapping his arms in despair, "Christ, couldn't you have just let me tell him the truth in the first place?"

"We didn't know how to handle a two-for-the-price-of-one deal," Alex said sincerely, "we're learning here too."

Gene turned to Robin.

"Right, Batman, time to prove your worth."

Robin felt a little confused as Gene began to walk away, trotting a little to keep up with his powerful stride.

"Where are we going?"

"To extract ten tons of truth from Mister Nailer," said Gene, "and if yer lucky he might keep 'is trousers on this time. Otherwise we might need to get legal representation for his boxers an' all."


	32. Chapter 31: 18th October 1995

**Chapter Thirty One**

Gene exhaled loudly as he first caught sight of Evan at the desk down the end of the corridor. It had been quite a while. He'd never expected to see him again. After the events that transpired with the Price's Evan had carefully avoided Fenchurch East. More than a decade on, he was back on eerily familiar ground.

"_Mister Evan White," _Gene began loudly, "it has been a very long time."

Evan turned to him and held out his hand with a surprisingly warm smile.

"DCI Hunt," he said brightly, "I wasn't sure if I would find any familiar faces around."

Gene grudgingly shook hands with Evan, a man he'd not laid eyes on in many years. He'd almost forgotten the level of smarmy charm oozing out of ever pore. He was pleased at the very least to see that he had a few more wrinkles and grey hairs than the last time they'd met.

"Yours is certainly a face I hadn't expected to see today," he commented.

Evan shuffled a little awkwardly.

"DI Drake," he began, "Is she still working here?"

Gene bristled.

"I can honestly say," he began, "that _DI_ Drake is no longer working here."

"Oh, that's a shame," Evan looked a little crestfallen, "I was hoping to renew our acquaintance."

Gene smirked internally.

"I'll pass on your regards if I run into her," he said. He glanced behind him. "This is DC Robin Thomas. Don't mind the uniform, fresh into CID today."

Robin stepped forward a little coyly as he reached out to shake Evan's hand. He was coming at the moment from the opposite perspective to Gene. While Gene was seeing a man some 14 years older than the last time they'd met, Robin was seeing Evan 15 years prior to their first meeting. While Gene saw a man with more grey hair and wrinkles, Robin was seeing him with fewer lines and signs of aging.

He and Simon had a little joint crush on Evan back home in 2010. They used to joke about Evan being the ideal older man and were always saying _"If he were twenty years younger_…" Now their ideal age target wasn't far off the mark.

"Very pleased to meet you," Robin said with a tiny grin.

A young uniformed officer stepped toward the desk and handed Evan a security pass.

"Here's your pass," she said, "if you could just sign and date here."

She turned a sheet of paper toward him and handed him a pen. Evan leaned over the desk and began to add his illegible scrawl to the page full of signatures.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure of the date," Evan said apologetically.

"It's the eighteenth of October," the young officer told him.

"Right" said Evan.

As he scribbled away, Robin felt something approaching a shard of pain rip through his head. He flinched and lifted his hand to his head, clutching his skull for a ,moment until it faded. He blinked a few times and glanced at Gene who was looking at him as thought he'd lost the plot.

"Invisible hammer on yer head?" he asked.

Robin opened his mouth to reply but something stole his ability to speak as an image flashed across his mind. A TV set, a hospital room, doctors, nurses and police officers talking.

"_Poor lad. He's got no one now."_

Robin flinched and forced the image out of his mind, clearing his conscious thoughts to focus back on the present.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I shall speak to my client before we proceed," Evan's voice flowed around him.

He vaguely heard Gene mumble something in reply and saw the shape of Evan walking away but more images and voices flashed into his memory, as much as he fought against them.

""_And this is the news on Wednesday eighteenth of October. The main headlines this lunchtime: Explosion in East London. No-one injured but valuable evidence up in smoke."_

"Oi! Batman!" Gene's angry voice broke through, "is this a private daydream or can anyone join in?"

"Huh?" Robin rubbed his eyes roughly, chasing away the images before them.

"Get yer head back on Nailer or get yer whole body back to uniform," said Gene, "it's your choice."

Robin shook his head slightly. Something was knocking away at his memory and he couldn't fight it.

"Sir, what was the date?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"The date today. What date did she say it was?"

"Eighteenth."

The number set Robin's memory off again

"…_The source of the explosion is thought to be an explosive device built inside a computer containing data on a growing narcotics business slowly spreading through the capital. The explosives, thought to be part of a timed device, detonated around midday today. Police and fire crews arrived at the scene too late to salvage much of the evidence but it is thought that notorious drug dealer -"_

"Oh God," Robin breathed "_no…" _he turned to Gene. "The evidence, where is it held?"

"What evidence?"

"The evidence on Nailer!" Robin cried. Without waiting for a reply he turned around and began running. The fragments of memories were beginning to form into a picture that he didn't like at all.

~xXx~

"Where the hell is she?" Malcolm asked Susannah nervously.

When there had been no sign of Kim by midmorning they'd gone on a whirlwind tour of the building, the grounds, Kim's favourite smoking places and every piercing studio within a 5 mile radius, but turned up nothing.

"I'm just glad the Guv isn't here to give our backsides a kicking for going AWOL again," said Susannah, surveying the office.

They had started to become increasingly nervous and desperate to get their questioning underway. Their fears were beginning to gnaw away at them to the point where they couldn't stand it any longer.

"Maybe she's scarpered," Malcom suggested.

"Or 'transferred'," Susannah said quietly.

They gave nervous but polite smiles to Alex and Simon, then returned to their desks.

Before Simon could invite them to Robin's fake initiation celebration or Alex could question them about where they had been thunderous footsteps galloped toward the office. Four faces turned to the doorway as Robin arrived, frantic and gripped with fear.

"Robin, what-?" Simon began but Robin cut him off.

"On Monday," he panted, "The X Files. We missed it."

Simon frowned.

"And I thought _I_ took it badly," he joked but Robin wasn't in the mood for laughing.

"Which episode was it?" Robin demanded

"Huh?"

"You knew we'd missed it, you must have looked at the schedules," Robin panted, "which episode was it?"

"My favourite one."

"_One Breath?"_

Simon nodded.

"Yes, why?"

Simon's confirmation surrounded Robin with a shield of silent terror. He felt as though he became enveloped by nothingness. No sound, no sight, nothing at all. Everything seemed to stop as his mind screamed out the memory of one night, one _awful_ night; one dreadful beating, all over watching one television programme. Then, one day later, a day of planning, tears, promises and packing. Then, on more day on, of discovery, violence of hatred and anger. Of death.

"Oh God, Simon," Robin could feel the room spinning as he whispered. It was to big, Too much. Too hard to take.

"Robin? Rob, what _is _it?" Simon became anxious, "Are you feeling OK? Robin?"

New reports played through Robin's flashbacks.

"_Police and fire crews arrived at the scene too late to salvage much of the evidence but it is thought that notorious drug dealer Nick Nailer had been storing computer files, documents and a small amount of his outlawed merchandise on the premises…"_

He could see himself; see the young, 15 year old Robin sitting in his hospital bed, his physical wounds being dressed but his mind screaming and crying out in anguish. Turning up the volume; up, up, up, trying his best to block it all out.

"_The source of the explosion is thought to be an explosive device built inside a computer…" _The flashback played again.

"…_an explosive device built inside a computer…"_

"…_inside a computer…"_

"…_.a computer…"_

Simon's hands on his shoulders shook Robin out of his flashback.

"Robin! Talk to me. Rob, what the hell's wrong?"

Robin's eyes were wide, dark and terrified.

"Simon," he breathed, "It's today."

"_What's _today?"

Robin swallowed and took a deep breath and opened his mouth to reply.

Then, with a deafening blast and a flash as bright as the sun the walls began to shake and crumble as the building and the most dreaded of days started to collapse around them.


	33. Chapter 32: As The Dust Settles

**Chapter Thirty Two**

The motion, the movement, the din, the vibration, the enveloping smoke and darkness, the fear, the confusion, the dread and the devastation.

In reality the initial blast and the following destruction had lasted only for a few moments but to those caught up in it they felt as though they lasted an eternity.

At first they were too afraid to move or to even look around in fear of what they might find. Far easier to keep their eyes closed and live in blissful ignorance. Somewhere in the distance an alarm went off, then soon after a second one joined in. Soon there was an alarm sounding right around them and a dribble of water, followed by a shower as the sprinkler system came on for a moment then petered out after just a few seconds.

Simon was the first one to move. When he was certain the floors and walls had stopped trembling like a big, law enforcing jelly he got to his feet a little unsteadily, coughing and spluttering as the dust irritated his throat and filled his lungs. He looked around but his mind was so scrambled that he couldn't make sense of the images he was seeing.

"Robin?" he tried, choking a little, "Rob? Where are you?"

Through the dusty air he saw something start to move under a pile of papers and ceiling tiles, then from the mound of debris a Robin-shaped dust bunny emerged.

"I'm OK," he coughed, "Are you -"

"I'm fine," Simon interrupted.

Beside them, Alex hauled herself to her feet using her good arm. She seemed more or less unscathed, despite her hair looking more like _A Haystack _than _The Rachel._

"Is everyone alright?" her voice came clear and strong above the din.

"Fine here," Simon coughed.

"We're OK," Robin agreed.

"I'm wet!" a surprised voice chimed in as three pairs if eyes turned to see Malcolm directly under the dripping sprinkler system.

"Where's Susannah?" Simon asked anxiously.

"_Under Malcolm," _the muffled reply came.

It took a few moments for that to sink in, then Simon and Robin finally reacted to pull Malcolm to his feet and free a rather squashed Susannah from under his posterior. She looked a little embarrassed and tried to gather herself.

"Well _that_ was an experience," she mumbled.

"What the hell was that?" cried Simon.

"Nailer put explosives in one of his computers," Robin yelled over the alarms, "I remembered it… remembered seeing it on the news, before."

"There was a warning?" asked Alex.

"No, _before_," Robin cried, "the first time around. The last time, Nailer had fled by now and no one caught him. The bomb went off in the yard, no one was hurt, it was just the evidence that went sky high."

"Eh?" Susannah frowned, hardly understanding a word.

Alex glanced at her nervously. This was not a conversation to have around the uninitiated.

"Look, I think we'd better get out of here before the place crumbles," she said loudly, slowly making her way to the door through piles of dust, chairs and the occasional brick.

The rest of the shaken gathering followed, feeling their way along through dusty corridors and down smoke-filled stairs until someone told them they had to go back.

"_This way's all blown out!" _a voice cried, _"it's too dangerous. You'll have to try the east wing exit."_

Turning back, they snaked their way through more corridors and staircases, finally reaching clearer air and more light. With a hacking cough, Alex blundered her way out of a fire exit and into the rear car park with Simon and Robin forming some kind of four-legged creature behind her. They'd somehow managed to connect together on the way out, Simon's belt getting caught on Robin's uniform and neither being able to detangle in the dusty haze.

"Get off my _toe!" _Robin cried as Simon squashed it for the forth time.

"Sorry," Simon mumbled.

Behind them, Susannah pulled Malcolm towards the light and air, blinking and squinting as the chilly, clear October sky brought clarity and sun to their situation.

It was only as they moved further away fro the building that the enormity of the damage began to strike them. Somewhere toward the other end of the building flames were clearly visible and one side of the building had been completely blown out. The car park was awash with uniformed officers and plain-clothes detectives screaming, crying and panicking, their training forgotten in an instant.

"My god, _Gene," _Alex whispered. She turned to Robin. "Where is he? You were with him last."

"We'd been waiting for Evan," Robin said, spluttering a little was the dust caught his throat, "he'd just arrived. We were near the cells."

Alex took a few steps back to get a clearer view of the chaos, her eyes desperately scanning for that familiar coat and those well-worn boots.

"_Gene?" _she cried at the top of her voice, her lungs still raw from the smoke and dust, "_Gene? Where are you? GENE!"_

"He'll be here, he'll be here," Robin urged, "look, the damage is so far away."

"You saw how bad the office was!" cried Alex, "custody is closer!"

From the exit they'd just left, two uniformed officers emerged carrying an unconscious woman. Immediately Susannah's eyes lit up and without a second thought her legs began to race off in the direction of the injured party.

"_Let me through!" _she cried, _"what does she need; the kiss of life, the Heimlich manoeuvre or a tourniquet?_

Malcolm glanced around and followed her, not wishing to be left with people he didn't fully trust after all they had been through in the last 24 hours.

"_Susie, wait!" _he cried, "_I'll hold the first aid kit!"_

Robin looked from the anxious Alex to the stunned Simon, both staring back at the crumbling, blazing station, one desperately seeking their lover, the other struck dumb by the most destruction he'd ever seen. He grabbed Simon's arm and pulled him out of his state of shock.

"Si, _listen," _he began urgently, "I remembered this from before. I saw the news reports when I was in hospital, when I was fifteen. Nailer booby trapped his computer so that all his evidence would be destroyed. In _our_ time all it took with it was an old warehouse in an abandoned yard because Nailer was already off on another adventure, taking his trade across to some other area. But here, we caught him and we brought his computers back here to search for evidence. We brought the bomb into the station, Simon."

"_Why did no one detect the explosives?" _Simon cried.

"No one was looking for them!" cried Robin, "No one thought he had any connection with explosives!"

"_M'am!"_ a young female officer ran toward them.

Alex glanced around.

"Yes?" she said, her voice still urgent from the need to find Gene.

"DCI Hunt is around the front of the station," the officer told her, "he is looking for you. He's got six of us trying to find you."

"Is he OK?"

"A bit dusty, but fine.

Alex let out a breath she didn't even realise she'd been holding.

"Oh thank _god,"_ she breathed.

"Hunt's OK?" Simon asked, vaguely overhearing the conversation.

"He's around the front," Alex called over her shoulder as she began jogging away to find him.

Simon and Robin took off after her, getting a brief tour of the outside of most of Fenchurch East as they went, spotting the large-bottomed lady from the canteen scarpering from the kitchens with a colander over her head, protecting her from random debris.

As they finally reached the front of the station two fire engines were screaming their way into the grounds and the first ambulance crew were attending to the injured officers who'd made their way out of the building.

"Where is he?" Alex cried, her eyes scanning the crowd.

"_Bolly!"_ one yell caught her attention.

With a gasp and a thumping heart Alex turned to see Gene heading towards her, a little dusty and singed but very much safe and alive.

"Gene, thank _God,"_ she wanted to throw her arms around him but found in her panic she was frozen to the spot, "I thought…"

"The worst?" Gene concluded. He shook his head. "Takes more than a big bang to get rid 'o me." Seeing Alex's worry and her currently frozen state he took the initiative and slowly closed his arms around her, his large coat enveloping her in a warm safety net that she wished she could remain inside forever.

"It's Naler," sad Simon, "He booby trapped his computers. Robin remembered."

"He did it to destroy the evidence," Robin began, "he never expected those machines to end up here. They were supposed to blow at the yard."

"Well he's got himself a fried Fenchurch East to add to his repertoire of charges now," said Gene. He began to loosen his grip on Alex a little to pull back and ask, "everyone make it out?"

"Susannah's off administering first aid with Jarvis Cocker on backing vocals," said Simon.

"What about Kim?"

"I never saw Kim," said Simon, "I don't think she came to work today."

Gene looked annoyed for a moment but quickly realised there were more important things to worry about. He looked grimly at Robin.

"All that stuff about the date…?"

Robin looked down.

"I was starting to remember," he whispered, "I'd blanked it out."

As he spoke, more memories thrust themselves back to him. A kick, a punch, a tussle over a knife and the blow that sent him out cold.

Simon froze visibly. To Gene and the others he looked as though someone had put him on pause. He stared at Robin, his lip trembling just a little. Robin's last words before the explosion came back to him. The glisten of a tear began to flicker in his eye as he whispered,

"Oh God, Robin, it's today, isn't it?" He stared on, but Robin couldn't speak. He couldn't even move. "It's _now, _isn't it? It's happening right now."

Robin's body stayed absolutely still but his face began to crumble. He tried to keep himself in check but he was in danger of falling apart.

Somewhere nearby the crackle and mumble of a radio in an abandoned car was heard, the officers who had been inside it a moment earlier fleeing to find out why their station had just exploded. Most of the words were drowned out by the crackling of flames, powerful jets of water and the odd siren but amongst them the phrase '_domestic disturbance'_ came over loud and clear.

"Robin?" Alex said quietly.

Robin swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to speak but he nodded and mouthed, _yes_, clearly enough that they could all read his lips.

"What the bloody hell are you all miming about?" Gene demanded.

"There's no time to explain, Gene," Alex began, "we need your driving skills. Get in that car."

"Gene Hunt does not drive anything with a bloody label on the side," Gene said.

"This is serious, Guv," Alex hissed.

Simon stared at Robin.

"Do you want to… I mean, _can_ you…?" He nodded towards the car.

Robin didn't know. He wasn't sure himself. How could he face that? How could _anyone_ ?

His lips prepared to say no but his body disagreed with them and before he could stop himself he'd taken off in the direction of the car and thrown himself into the front passenger seat. As he slammed the door, a napkin laying on the tarmac beside the car caught his eye for a split second. _Stand by,_ it said. Simon and Alex dived into the back, leaving a bewildered Gene to take his place in the driver's seat. Barely hesitating to slam the door shut, he turned the keys in the ignition and screamed out of the chaos surrounding Fenchurch East.

"Where we heading?" he asked. He didn't know the full story behind Robin's childhood or his reason for arriving in 1995 but he knew that something serious was unfolding.

"Straight ahead, turn right at the roundabout," Robin whispered hoarsely.

A hand reached forward from the back seat to rest comfortingly on Robin's shoulder and he turned around to see Simon looking at him with concern.

"We'll get there, Rob," he hissed, "We'll make it."

Robin couldn't stand to imagine either way. The thought of reaching his family's house on this of all days terrified him. But he had made his decision and he had to follow it through. Maybe _this _was the key. Maybe this time he would find the answer to getting back home.

The number plate on the car in front of them drew Robin's attention. _D05AGE_, it said. He blinked and swallowed as they took the right turn he'd asked for.

"Keep going down here," he whispered, "then turn left at the garage at the bottom of the hill."

Gene followed his instructions in silence, reaching the garage and taking a left turn. '_DROPPING'_, said the sign above the car wash. Robin rubbed his eyes and glanced back to see the sign had turned into the word 'BUBBLES'. He shook his head, bewildered by the strange words he was seeing and concentrated on instructing Gene.

"From here you carry on round the road until you get to the railway bridge, then you take a sharp right," he said quietly.

A bus travelled parallel to them; the large advertising panel showing a picture of an alarm clock, beside which the words _Time to wake up_ were emblazoned.

Robin swallowed and gripped the seat.

"And from here," he whispered as Gene took the turning he'd requested, "you follow this road right down until you reach the cul-de-sac." He paused as he took in a banner hanging across someone's front garden. _Welcome Back,_ it said.

"Where now?" Gene asked after a few moments.

Robin inhaled deeply. A familiar gate drew closer. This was it. This was the moment.

"_Home," _he whispered.


	34. Chapter 33: Ouroboros

**Chapter Thirty Three**

The car screeched to a halt outside the gate where Robin's elbows had laid so many times s a child, staring out, watching the world go by, wishing to be anywhere but there. The moment shook Robin to the core. He didn't know how he could possibly cope, knowing what was happening right there and then inside the house.

As he opened the door and stepped out of the car he could hear screaming and crashing already. His stomach lurched and it took all his willpower not to give in to the urge to vomit as the true horror of the situation finally started to sink in. As the others climbed out the car Simon tried to take charge.

"Alright," he spoke quickly and urgently, "Alex, take the left alleyway. I'll take the right. Hunt, take the front door. Robin, stay here."

But before anyone could put Simon's instructions into action a fast-moving figure ran from the right alleyway toward them, the glint of a kitchen knife in his hand. He spotted them at the last moment and doubled back on himself as Simon and Gene took chase while Alex ran toward the left alley as planned in case the man took a full circle and emerged from the other side.

"_Oh no you don't," _Simon muttered, pounding against the floor with his feet, in a surprising burst of speed which left Gene a few paces behind but as he caught up the figure began to climb the wall into next door's garden and kicked Simon in the head. Despite his best attempts to recover from the surprise action it knocked the sense out of Simon for a moment and his hands failed to grasp the dangling legs. Instead he stumbled backwards and landed hard on his backside.

Alex and Gene caught up to him from opposite sides.

"Shit, my arm," Alex cursed, trying to work out how to scale the wall.

"Go back to the front garden," Gene barked, using Sion as a step ladder to get a boost over the wall.

"_Argh!"_ Simon cried, "thank for that, Hunt!"

Gene launched himself over the wall and picked up speed, grasping for his gun and yelling a warning as the figure dived through his neighbour's washing line and emerged the other side with a pair of knickers on his head and a couple of socks on each shoulder. A shot from Gene defected from the peg bag and caught the man in his shoulder, causing him enough pain to slow down and scream but not enough to stop him in his tracks. The alcohol in his system sent the world spinning and his foot caught a trailing plant in the rockery which sent him stumbling to the floor.

"Consider yerself nicked," Gene cried as he closed in on him but the knife was still tightly in the man's grasp and he lashed out. The sharp metal implement buried itself through the side of Gene's boot, into his flesh, spilling blood and foul language from his leg and mouth respectively.

"_Gene," _Simon caught up with them, alarmed by the sight of Gene laying injured on the grass, pegs and blood everywhere.

"Don't waste time on me, you stupid sod, get the wife-beating bastard!" Gene cried, waving Simon on.

Simon reluctantly left Gene where he was and took up the chase, following Robin's father around the side alley of the neighbour's house and out into the front garden, where Alex was ready and waiting, gun aimed squarely in his direction.

"Going somewhere?" she asked.

The man stopped dead in his tracks, glancing back in time to get a Simon in the face as the lanky DCI failed to stop running in time. For the second time in as many days, Simon found himself sitting on the bad guy.

"This is getting to be a habit," Alex commented.

Simon tried to catch his breath as he snatched up the knife their target had dropped with the impact of his fall.

"Alex, Gene's hurt," he said breathlessly, "I think he's OK but you need to call back-up and an ambulance.

Inside, Alex could feel panic starting to rise but tried to keep it in. She nodded and raced out of the garden, down the road to the car where she gabbed for the radio to request assistance. Halfway through her message she noticed something was wrong. Someone was missing.

"_Robin?"_

~xXx~

It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

The walk down the path to the front door was only a few meters long but felt like a cross-country walk. With every step his hands shook and his heart rate increased. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run away as fast as possible. He wanted to do anything rather than face the reality of what he was going to find the other side of that door, but at the same time he knew he had no choice.

He closed his hand around the door handle and opened it slowly. _Typical_, he thought, _never remembered to lock the damn thing_. Taking a deep breath he stepped inside and found himself in the hall, the old wallpaper lining the corridor and the carpet in familiar tones of beige and turquoise beneath his feet. One footstep, another, and another. Every step took him closer to the kitchen that he knew lay ahead and the scene he couldn't face seeing. Finally there he was, at the kitchen door. He slowly opened it, the fear more potent than any he'd felt before in his life. To one side there was a battered, lifeless shape he dared not even glance at. He knew what it was, he knew _who_ it was, and he knew that he was too late. There was no changing it. He wouldn't let himself look at her. _Couldn't. _Didn't dare. He knew why he was there, and had to stay focused.

Beside the open back door, a young teenage boy opened his eyes, his body bruised and his face streaked with tears. He could hardly focus on Robin as he strode towards him. He needed him. As hard as it was to handle, he had no choice. There was a young boy who needed his help, his security, his strength. His mouth grew dry as he drew closer and began to bend down.

"_You're safe now," _he whispered_, "You're going to be alright."_

The sound of sirens drawling closer barely registered as he stared at the lad. Neither did the appearance of two figures at the doorway.

"_Robin?" _Simon's voice came quietly.

Beside him, Alex shushed him and stretched out her arm to stop Simon from stepping any closer. They watched on in silence as Robin reached out to the lad, slipped one hand under the crook of his knees and the other around his back then scooped him up from the floor. He held him safely and securely as he got to his feet and walked towards the open kitchen door. Simon and Alex stepped aside and watched quietly as he took the young boy from the scene; protecting him from witnessing the sight of the lifeless shape in the corner, taking him away from the room that had seen the most socking violence and pain.

Nothing slowed Robin down, nothing got in his way, nothing interrupted his journey around the side of the building to the empty car where he gently laid the boy in the back seat before he took charge of the vehicle and drove the lad away to safety.

In that moment, Robin sealed his future.

~xXx~

Simon and Alex stood outside the door of the hospital room, watching Robin kneeling beside the bed of the lad he'd carried to safety.

"A complete circle," Simon breathed, his mind taken by the poetry of the concept.

Alex nodded slowly.

"To never be broken," she whispered.

Simon watched Robin as he got to his feet and bid his younger self goodbye.

"He was his own hero all along," he whispered.

A doctor, a nurse and one of the officers who had arrived as back-up stood nearby, talking about young Robin.

"_Poor lad… he's got no one now."_

"_There's an aunt in Surrey."_

"_How does a boy ever get over something like this?"_

Simon frowned and interrupted them crossly.

"Hey," he began, "that _'boy' _is going to be just fine."

The three gossipy workers pulled a face and disbanded, leaving Simon and Alex alone as Robin left the room and walked towards them.

"Robin? Are you doing alright?" Alex asked him seriously.

Robin exhaled loudly as he gave a slow nod, his head drooping a little.

"Come here," Simon whispered, reaching out for Robin.. Placing his hands on his arms he pulled him closer until he was wrapped in a warm, secure embrace that would keep the demons at bay. Alex looked on, quickly aware that she wasn't a part of this picture and gave a little smile.

"I'm going to find Gene," she said quietly and left them to have some time alone.

~xXx~

The door opened just a crack and Gene looked up to see Alex slowly walking toward him.

"_Gene," _she smiled, relieved to see him safe and sound, "how are you doing?"

Gene could hardly contain his despair.

"It's bad, Bolly," he croaked, hidden tears just bubbling below the surface.

Alex froze in her tracks, her eyes opening wide as his tone and words struck her.

"What's wrong?" she whispered,

"That knife… it just cut right through," Gene's voice trembled, "they've tried to stitch it, but…" he sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, "it's just too deep."

Alex felt tears spring instantly to her eyes.

"W-what does this mean?" she whispered quietly.

"I'll never be able to use it again, Bols," Gene said tearfully, "it's just useless to me now."

"Oh Gene, _no!" cried Alex._

Gene nodded his head and lifted up his damaged boot.

"I'm afraid so," he croaked, "years of faithful service and now they're going to end up in the bin."

Alex froze for the second time in as many minutes.

"_What?"_

"Me boots," Gene said sadly, "the bastard murdered this one! I'm gonna see that he rots in the bowels of Jimbo's old office for that, you see if I don't!"

Alex's mouth hung open, aghast. Rage and relief fought it out for the primary emotion and in the end a mixture of the two spewed forth from her mouth as she cried,

"You total _idiot, _Gene Hunt! You had me terrified! I thought you'd lost your _leg! _How can you do that to me?"

Gene looked at her innocently, completely unaware of her fears.

"He _ruined _me _boots!" _he reiterated, "My boots. Gene Hunt's boots. Gone, just like that."

"You have no idea what you just put me through, do you?" cried Alex.

"An emergency trip to the shoe shop?" Gene suggested. He paused, his eyes lighting up as the possibility of a whole new generation of jokes to throw at Simon came into play.

Alex shook her head slowly in disbelief.

"Try something like that again and you'll be _sleeping_ in one of your boots!" she told him sternly then softened as she saw him wince in genuine pain. "Honestly, Gene… I just want to know how your leg is."

Gene sighed and hauled his leg up onto the trolley with his hands to show her the neat stitching.

"Nurse did a good job," he commented, "thinking of sending Kite her way for a few lessons."

Alex pulled a face as she looked at his wound.

"Are you really OK, Gene?" she asked quietly, kneeling beside it to see it a little more clearly.

"I will be when they get the bloody thing dressed and get me out of here," Gene told her, "bloody sissy place to get stabbed, isn't it? Me leg."

Alex gently planted a kiss just above the wound, then looked back at Gene as she got to her feet.

"We're a station full of crocks, aren't we?" she sighed, signalling to her own arm.

"You should get that looked at while yer here, Lady B," Gene told her sternly.

"I already did, actually," Alex blushed a little, "they mistook me for one of the injured and rushed me into x-ray. Chipped my elbow. Nothing too serious, I just need to keep it in a sling for a while. I was worried they'd want to operate."

"I was worried you'd just let Kite keep treating it!" said Gene.

Alex smiled and began to walk to the door.

"I need to make sure Robin and Simon are alright," she said, "and to warn Simon you'll be over with some new jokes.

_How does she know these things?__"_ thought Gene but he just nodded.

"Soon as they've slapped a band-aid on me leg I'll meet you back at the station." He paused, "what's left of it."

Alex's spirits sank dramatically. With all that had happened she had almost managed to forget about the explosion..

"What the hell is going to happen to us all now?" she asked.

Gene shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, "but let's hope there's a shovel handy because I'll be digging my way back into CID if I have to. Nailer's going down, one way or another - drugs, explosives - he's building quite a CV."

Alex leaned forward, her fingers slipping around the back of Gene's head and interweaving themselves through his hair as she kissed him, then looked him in the eye.

"I am _so_ glad you're alright," she whispered, "Boots or no boots."

~xXx~

Robin stared through the glass in the doorway at his younger self turning up the volume on the small TV to block out the anguish and the screams growing inside of his head.

"_All that time," _he whispered, "I was my own inspiration and I never knew."

Simon placed a hand against his back and joined him staring through the window for a moment.

"I feel like I know you even better than before now," he said quietly, "I know what made you _my Robin_."

Footsteps approached them and they looked around to see Alex heading closer.

"How's DCI Hunt?" Robin asked quietly.

"Mourning the loss of his favourite boots," said Alex, "Simon, I thought you should be aware, I can practically see the shoe-shop jokes floating around inside his head."

Simon made a stoic face.

"Right," he said, "I'm sure I can handle them."

"But he's OK. They've stitched his wound and now they're dressing it. He'll be OK."

"What about you?" asked Simon.

"Let's just say the next time I pick up an injury I'm going to come straight to the professionals," Alex told them indicating her new sling.

Simon put his hands in his pockets and shuffled.

"I suppose we should get back to the station," he said, "I dread to think what kind of state we'll find it."

"Actually," Robin began quietly, "if its OK with you I think I'd like a little time on my own."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Simon said warily.

"I just need to get my head together" Robin told him. "I'm fine… well, not _fine_ but…" he peered through the window again, "a damned sight better than _he _is.

Simon gave a slow nod.

"I understand," he said quietly. He hesitated then glanced at Alex. "Actually, there's something I need to do too. Do you mind if I head off?"

Alex gave a one-sided shrug.

"I suppose not," she said, "take a radio just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case Gene needs to tell an urgent shoe-related joke?" Alex suggested, "after the day we've just been through I'd just like to know you're at the end of a radio."

"Alright," sighed Simon, "I'll go back to the station and pick up a radio first. You coming, Rob?"

But Robin's mind was far away. He could hear a whirring and a bleeping of machines and at first thought they were coming from the room next door but as he listened he realised they were coming from somewhere in his head. Soon a collage of voices followed,

"…_minimised dosage… don't want to bring him out too quickly…"_

"…_should see a response later today…"_

"…_I'll be here," _he heard a voice that had become so familiar to him over the last few years, _"he's like a son to me."_

Immediately Robin's eyes began to mist over. The sound of Simon's father making such a statement had taken him by surprise and filled him with a kind of warmth that he hadn't experienced in a great many years. It was the warmth of belonging to a family.

"_And you've been like a father to me," _he whispered to no one.

"Rob?" Simon's voice brought his attention back to the moment, "are you coming to the station?"

Robin wiped away a tear that was threatening to fall down his cheek and gave a thin smile.

"I think I'm just going to get some air," he said quietly, "I'll meet you back at the flat later on."

As the three of them disbanded Robin recalled the painting they'd watched Bob Ross create that morning. It seemed like such a long time ago now. He stared up at the sky as he slowly walked along, leaving the hospital grounds. There was not a cloud to be seen and a world of blue stretched out above him. He breathed the fresh, healing air into his lungs and relished the feeling of the sun on his face.

"_I created my own canvas today," _he whispered. That was a thought that he would never, ever forget.

**~~xxXxx~~**

**A huge, huge thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I hope you are still enjoying this fic as it comes towards its climax. Still a few chapters to go yet but I am starting to feel sad that it's heading now towards the end. Thank you so much for sticking with this story -x-**


	35. Chapter 34: The Hardware Store FakeOut

**Chapter Thirty Four**

_Haven__'t I been here before? _Simon thought sarcastically to himself as he wandered into the shop. He felt a little more self-conscious this time than he had in 2010. Tripping over the step on is way in certainly didn't help.

"Good afternoon, sir," smiled the sales assistant before frowning as she took in the slightly scruffy appearance of the man before her, the dust from the explosion ingrained in his jacket and mud from his ill-fated attempt at grabbing Robin's father still smothering parts of his trousers. "Can I help you?" she asked, trying to cover up the _'good' _jewellery just in case.

"Men's rings," Simon began, "I'd like to see what you've got."

"Oh," the woman was a little disappointed. She'd been hoping he was going to buy some of their specially created _OJ is Innocent_ memorabilia, "alright." She led him to a display case and pointed inside. "Here's what we have in at the moment."

Simon scanned the tray, unimpressed with the selection. The mid nineties was not the optimum time for jewellery, he considered. It was before a combination of metrosexuality and 'bling' made jewellery for men more fashionable and unless he wanted to propose to Robin with a giant sovereign then he was going to struggle to find the right style.

"Hmm…. Not really what I'm looking for," he sighed, "where are your wedding bands?"

The shop assistant led him to a different display and left him to study them for a second. He gave another sigh. He'd already found the perfect ring - it was just that it happened to be fifteen years away.

He'd been studying the rings for a few moments when his radio crackled and with a couple of expletives he took it from his pocket.

"Go ahead."

"_Shoebury, get your backside over to Fenchurch East," _Gene's voice came through.

"_No, no, no,"_ sighed Simon, "Alex said it was OK for me to go!"

"Got things to discuss involving our friend Nailer," Gene told him.

"But I'm at the -" he stopped himself just in time, coming close to blurting out his embarrassing location again. "…the hardware store," he lied, "lots of tools. Hammers. Manly things."

"_You're the only tool around here," _Gene told him, _"get back to what's left of the building, we've had a development."_

Simon groaned.

"OK, OK, I suppose… if I _have_ to…" he began but something shiny caught his eye to one side of the case, "oh my _god, _that's _it!"_ He quite forgot the radio momentarily as he flagged down the assistant and cried excitedly, "that's it! That's the ring!"

There was a crackle on the radio, followed by an amused laugh.

"_Hardware shop," _Gene's mocking voice came through clearly, _"so that'll be shower curtain rings you're getting all excited about will it?"_

Simon hesitated. Then he glanced around guiltily.

"I can't hear you, you're breaking up," he lied, _"Kkkkkkccchhhhhhhh…"_ he made fake static noises over the radio then switched it off.

"This is the one you'd like, Sir?" asked the shop assistant. As Simon nodded, she pulled out her keys to unlock the display case and lifted up the ring for him to see.

"It's uncanny," he breathed, its likeness to the ring he'd picked out in 2010 knocking the sense out of him momentarily.

"Do you want to try it on?" the assistant asked him.

Simon nodded. His ring finger and Robin's were a near identical size. They'd discovered this on a rainy bank holiday when they decided, against their better judgement, to make a set of Red Dwarf finger puppets. It was a long story that Simon didn't wish to revisit, especially since Robin always bagsied the best characters.

The assistant handed him the ring and he carefully slipped it onto his finger. It was about as perfect a fit as he could possibly find. There was no doubt about it, he thought to himself, _that_ was the ring.

"I'll take it," he said quietly.

So it wasn't the setting he'd visualised the moment in. It wasn't the day or the time. It wasn't even the _year. _But Simon was starting to learn that those things didn't matter anywhere near as much as he thought they did. All that mattered was that he wanted to be with Robin forever, and was pretty damn certain that Robin felt the same. The events of the day had just gone to confirm this to him.

_Tonight__'s the Night,_ he thought with a shiver of anticipation. It was time to catch up with the most important item on his _to do_ list.

~xXx~

"_Oh wow," _Simon let out his breath as he stared at the remains of Fenchurch East. When he had called by to pick up a radio he'd used the rear entrance; now seeing the station from the other side he could see devastation in its full, terrible form.

Gene stood, arms folded, in front of the building. One leg was hanging a little limply in the air, bootless and painful. He'd shunned crutches on account of the fact that Simon had previously _'looked like a right div and no mistake' _when using crutches after breaking several toes back in 1985, so hobbling and limping were the order of the day.

"It's not a pretty sight, is it?" he said.

It took Simon a few moments to realise that Gene meant the building, not his leg.

"How much of CID is left?" he asked.

"We've got four walls," Gene said gruffly, "half a ceiling. Most of a floor. That's more than some parts of the building have got."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"Is there any word on the number of injuries?" he asked.

"Three dead, that we know of so far," Gene began grimly, "two in intensive care. Another twelve admitted to hospital. About fifty walking-wounded." he looked a little uncomfortable. "Would have been worse if it wasn't for Little Miss Tourniquet."

Simon frowned.

"What, _Susannah?" _he asked.

Gene nodded.

"We all got that one wrong," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Saved a man's life," Gene told him, "resuscitated him. Saved a girl too. Stopped her bleeding to death. Got about thirty others up and about in different ways." He reached into his pocket and found the hip flask that he was relieved to find still safely about his person. "Can't stick a plaster on the right finger but can get a man's lungs working again." he took a long swig of whiskey and gave a satisfied gasp. "Must be something about working under pressure."

"_God," _Simon shook his head slowly, "I would never have believed it."

"Girl's a hero," said Gene, absently offering his flask to Simon who pulled a face and batted it away, "they're round the back, interviewing her for the six o'clock news as we speak."

Simon ran his fingers through his hair, watching the last trails of smoke rise from the building.

"You said there was news on Nailer," he reminded Gene.

Gene nodded.

"Had a bit of a chat with Evan," he began, "seems he's happy to put his hands up to the small amount of merchandise we found on the premises but nothing else. He thinks we'll take that in exchange for forgetting about the exploding surprise he put inside his computer."

"That's bullshit," Simon shook his head, "he can't seriously think we're going to offer him a deal."

"Evan says someone had already approached him with that very deal earlier on today."

Simon frowned.

"_Who?"_

"That's what I'd like to know," said Gene, "I put him straight. Anything that comes from anyone's mouth other than mine is a fake deal. Evan's gone back to Nailer with that piece of information, and I'm left thinking about who'd have the balls to step in and make a deal."

Simon looked at him nervously.

"Gene, you're not thinking the same thing _I'm_ thinking, are you?"

"If you're thinking a thought with spectacles and a flashing mac then most likely yes, I am," said Gene.

Simon took a deep breath which he let out very slowly.

"If Keats was sticking his nose in then how did he get access to Nailer _or_ Evan?" he asked, "and why is he so fascinated by Nailer anyway?"

"I was hoping we might be able to find that out through his game of musical charades tonight," said Gene, "but I don't suppose your friend Batman will be up for his initiation now, _will_ he?"

Simon bit his lip nervously. His hand strayed to the small box in his pocket.

"Actually," he began, "I think we could all do with that night out tonight, Keats-based motive or otherwise. Robin will be there, but I'll tell him to leave his wellies at home. You can initiate him some other time."

"Why?" frowned Gene, "what have you got planned?"

Simon looked away and gave a self-conscious shrug.

"Just… _stuff," _he mumbled.

Silence descended as they watched various people shuffling around the building. Somewhere around the other side of the remains, a news crew were packing up and offering Susannah lashings of congratulations for her bravery and skill. As their words of praise flowed around her, she thought she heard the chatter of a lively pub and a warm welcome from a man with a Jamaican accent, just for a moment.

With all the events of the day, Susannah wrote it off as a strange ringing in her ears left from the explosion and pushed it out of her mind.

_**~~xxXxx~~**_

_**Sorry this chapter was shortish, I wanted a little bit of light-hearted filler to break up two heavier chapters since the next one's going to be fairly long and dark. I think there are about 10 chapters to go now, but the damn thing just keeps growing! Sorry about that!**_


	36. Chapter 35: Accelerando

_**This chapter is brought to you today under the influence of strong cold medication, fevers and codeine-based pain medication. You have been waaaaaarned!**_

**Chapter Thirty Five**

Alex sipped her wine and stared at the Karaoke stage. He head was in a muddle of thoughts. She was dreading arriving home with Gene that night because she had a feeling he was going to label it as a _'funny old day' _again and if that happened she just might have to strangle him. She gave him a sideways glance and tried to suppress a smile but he caught her strange expression and wanted to know what it was for.

"Come on, Bols," he said, sipping his pint, "you don't smirk at me like that for no reason. Spit it out."

"You sent six people to look for me," Alex smiled.

"At the _bar?"_

"No, after the explosion."

Gene cleared his throat a little gruffly and mumbled something about wanting to make sure he still had a bed for the night but his protests did little to stop Alex's smile from growing.

"You were that worried about me," she said.

"I just knew you'd be worrying about _me_," he bluffed into the foam of his beer, "wanted to make sure you knew I was alright."

"_Six _people," Alex repeated, beaming.

"Alright woman! Keep it down!" Gene glanced around, "I don't want the whole bar to know I'm going soft."

Alex decided to stop winding Gene up but didn't stop smiling. She had started to feel a little more relaxed that evening, despite the traumas of the day gone by. Her arm was feeling better in a proper sling and some of the strange faint, nauseous sensations she'd been suffering had passed. All in all, she felt more human than she had for the last few days.

Her eyes scanned the club. Sitting together at another table were Malcolm and Susannah, the latter of which receiving attention from a few random people who'd been watching the news that evening and seen her as the brave DI who'd put her first aid training to good use. Robin was flicking through the karaoke song list, his mind clearly elsewhere. Simon was at the bar, staring into an orange juice, fiddling with something in his pocket and muttering to himself.

"What's wrong with Simon?" she asked.

Gene glanced up and saw him looking fidgety and anxious.

"I hope he's not doing what I think he's doing with his hand in that pocket," he frowned.

"_Gene!"_

Gene sighed deeply. He knew what Simon was really worrying about. Their earlier radio conversation had given him a clue, and his rather dapper appearance that night had gone to back up his theory. He realised, in a strange way, he was feeling a little fatherly toward Simon.

"I think I'd better see if I can 'elp him with that nervous twitch," he said. He slowly rose from the chair, trying his hardest to ignore the pain in his leg and walked lopsidedly to the bar. He stopped casually beside Simon and turned around, facing away from him so Simon didn't have to meet his stare. "Evening, Shoebury."

Simon turned to him and frowned.

"Why are you standing with your back to me?" he asked, "have I offended you? It's because I haven't bought you a drink yet, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," said Gene, "although you have got a point…" he sighed. "alright, I was sitting over there, looking at you all twitchy and nervous and I thought you could do with some advice."

"What kind of advice?" Simon asked warily, taking a step backwards.

"You've got a ring in yer pocket, right?" Gene asked. He glanced at Simon who didn't reply but flushed an interesting shade of pink. "Right, first of all, calm yer bloody nerves. You're not going to get a no, are you? _Barman?" _he beckoned over a man with a strange little goatee, "a glass of scotch for my nervous friend here."

"You know I don't-" Simon began but Gene cut him off.

"Rule number one about proposals," he began, "get some Dutch courage into you." He handed over some money as a glass appeared on the bar. "Rule number two: pick yer moment. I suggest you wait until _after_ Malcolm's finished his rendition of _Boom Boom Boom_ because you don't want the rest of the club to be shouting _'wey-oh' _when you ask 'im. Right?"

Simon looked at Gene as though he had come along to share with him some facts about astrophysics.

"Where's all this _coming_ from?" he cried.

"Rule number three, don't do what Malcolm did and get a couple of pimps to serenade him when you propose. I don't care what Kite said, even the prozzies cringed so hard they got lost inside their own wrinkled foreheads!"

"I wasn't planning to!" Cried Simon.

Gene pushed the glass closer to Simon.

"You gonna drink this then?" he asked.

Simon stared at the glass, then back at Gene.

"I…" he floundered, "I'm _too confused!" _he wailed, "how the hell did you even _know?"_

Gene looked a little awkward.

"Alex told me what you were planning to do on the day you came here," he said, "then I heard you getting all excited at the _hardware store_, put two and two together."

Simon looked a little sheepish.

"You're being very open minded today, Hunt," he said.

"I'm just trying not to think about the arse bit," Gene mumbled, "now either get that scotch down your neck or I'm going to have to drink it for you."

Simon slowly lifted the glass like it had another of Nailer's devises strapped to it and took a cautious sniff. He pulled a face, remembering the stinging nature of the liquid he'd accepted when Gene had revealed the truth about this world to him. It wasn't a taste he wished to revisit.

"Thanks, but I can do this without drink," he said. He handed it back to Gene and cleared his throat. "Why don't _you _drink this," he glanced at Alex, "and then take your own advice?"

Gene pretended not to hear.

"Go on, son," he said gruffly, "go and do your bit for poofter's rights and the sanctity of marriage."

Simon set his face with steely determination.

"Right," he said. He paused, changed his mind about something, snatched back the glass and downed it after all. He pulled a face at the taste of the drink and left the glass on the bar before reaching into his pocket one more time then began to stride toward Robin with purpose.

Gene stared at the empty glass, crestfallen.

"I was looking forward to that then and all," he said.

~xXx~

"My hero," Malcolm taunted Susannah, but she was smiling.

"I don't know where it came from," she told him, "I just saw what was happening and knew I had to help."

"Maybe you're in the wrong emergency service" Malcolm suggested.

Susannah glanced at Robin, still flicking through the karaoke list and looking as though his mind was a hundred miles away.

"Did you hear what happened with him?" she asked Malcolm.

"Something about a boy?" Malcolm shrugged.

"The guv took his _inner circle_ to a domestic disturbance," Susannah said conspiratorially, "and they apprehended some man who'd beaten his wife to death. He almost killed his son too. Robin picked the kid up and took him to hospital." Malcolm knew there must be more to the story than that and waited for her to continue. "Do you know what the boy's name was?"

Malcolm shook his head.

"No."

"_Robin Thomas."_

Malcolm frowned.

"That's got to be a mistake," he said, "they must have taken Robin's name when he took the kid to hospital and mixed them up.

"No, Mal, I saw it on the news. While I was waiting for my interview to come on," she said shyly. "They arrested a man called Jeffrey Thomas. Mandy Thomas was the name of the woman who died. The hospital confirmed the boy was called Robin."

"Coincidence," said Malcolm, "it's got to be. What else _can_ it be?" But the hairs along the back of his neck began to stand on end.

"First I thought Kim was the key, but she's disappeared," said Susannah, "then I started to think maybe Simon was behind the strange things that have happened. Now I'm thinking we need to find out what _he's_ all about," she nodded towards Robin. "Come on, Mal - who gets to join CID a day into their employment? What are the chances of going on a call to find yourself rescuing a teenager with the exact same name as yourself? "

Malcolm shook his head slowly. He knew Susannah was right but he didn't want to contemplate what it could all mean.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly.

"Keep an eye on _that _one," Susannah said quietly, "and Shoebury." She gave a deep sigh. She really liked Simon but knew he was tied up somehow in the strange happenings that were surrounding them and couldn't bring herself to trust him. "Tomorrow we'll find out everything we can about that family. Maybe he'd related to them somehow."

Malcolm sipped his beer and stared at nothing in particular.

"Am I the only one who's scared shitless right now?" he asked quietly.

Susannah looked down. He wasn't.

"We always did agree on everything," she whispered.

~xXx~

"Give me that," said Simon, snatching the Karaoke list from Robin.

"Hey! I was trying to choose a song!" Robin protested.

"No you weren't," Simon pointed out, "you'd been reading the same two pages for the last fifteen minutes. Unless you're _really_ having that much trouble choosing between _Cotton Eye Joe_ and _Country House_ then I suggest you give me the book."

"You've already taken it," Robin pointed out.

Simon flicked through the pages then cursed.

"Damnit, they don't have it."

"What were you looking for?" asked Robin.

Simon sighed.

"Disco 2000," he said, "I know it's ten years out but it's as close as we're going to get. No one ever wrote a song about the delights of two thousand and ten."

"Not a very fashionable year," Robin gave a little smile.

"I can think of a few things it's got going for it," said Simon. He froze up for a moment, becoming acutely aware of how fast his heart was beating, He was worried that Robin would be able to hear it thumping out its tune of anxiety. _"you're _there for a start," he whispered.

Robin could see a strange look in Smon's eyes but didn't know what it meant. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, either. He was starting to learn that in this place it as often best not to ask.

"Thank you for everything you did today," had quietly.

"I didn't do anything," Simon shook his head.

"You sat on my father," Robin pointed out.

Simon glanced down with an embarrassed giggle.

"That's all I seem to have done since we arrived," he pointed out, "I promise this isn't how I got to be a DCI. It's not my usual way of working!"

"Seemed to do the trick today," Robin pointed out.

Simon looked at Robin.

"Nah," he began, "today has all been about you. You, facing something… something that no one should ever have to face. How you had the strength to go in and get him… _you_… I don't know. "

Robin felt a lump return to his throat. He'd been fighting it all afternoon.

"I had to," he said quietly."

Simon swallowed. The words were beginning to get tangled up in his throat on their way out now.

"When I came back the last time," he said quietly, "to nineteen eighty five, I was such a mess. I didn't cope at all. I made some really stupid, _stupid_ mistakes and I didn't know how to face waking up in the morning, let alone anything else. I was so messed up when I got home… you got me through that. You helped me when Keats was on my tail. You got me over the nightmares and the flashbacks."

"Well, you're going to have to do the same to me when we get home, so we'll be even," Robin tried to joke but there was a serious look in Simon's eyes.

Trying hard to ignore Bammo belting out the _Mike Flowers Pops_ version of _Wonderwall_, Simon reached out and took Robin's hand. It was only then that Robin noticed Simon was trembling.

"This was supposed to happen two days ago," he said quietly, "until I got a call on my day off, ended up in your car chasing Nailer through the back roads and wound up in nineteen ninety five with a Jarvis Cocker lookalike, a first-aid obsessive, a wannabe ladette and two DCIs who have spent the last ten years tiptoeing around their love for each other but are too damn stubborn to make it official." he paused. "I'm not going to make the same mistake."

Robin felt a shiver spread through his body. The look in Simon's eyes was intense and filled with layers of emotions that had been building up in the last few days.

"_Go on," _he whispered.

"I didn't know if I should do this here… now," Simon continued, "knowing what this year meant to you. And I'd already had all these plans, and a picture in my mind of how to make it perfect. But today… seeing what you did, going through the explosion… _and_ the arrest… it's put things into perspective for me. It doesn't matter where or when or how because none of those things change the '_why'."_

One last time, he reaching his pocket. His fingers closed around the box. Nothing was going to stop him now.

"_Si…"_

Simon pulled out the box and held it tightly. His hands wrapped around it and he could almost feel energy radiating from within. He slowly opened it and held it out to Robin. Swallowing hard, he decided that the moment was already cheesy enough to warrant it so he got down on one knee and looked up at Robin, his face frozen with his mouth a perfect 'O' shape.

"Robin," he whispered, his voice crackling through the sheer intensity of the moment, "I always knew we were meant to be together forever. Even time couldn't separate us. I want the world to know it." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. _"Marry me," _he whispered.

Robin's eyes were as wide as Simon had ever seen them. His body shook and his pulse rocketed, the blood pumping through his veins.

"Oh my god," he wasn't even sure he'd spoken out loud. His eyes met Simon's. "_Yes_… yes, of _course, _it's a _yes…"_

The moment had stolen the breath from Robin, his head spinning with emotion and surprise. He felt Simon's arms around him in a hug with the force of a herd of migrating wildebeests and heard his own voice whispering _Yes, yes… _again and again.

As he clung to Simon and listened to the sound of his pulse thumping through his ears he was vaguely aware of a few odd looks and one or two cheers and whistles but the crowd just seemed to disappear. All that mattered right then were the two of them and the promise they were destined to make. 1995, 2010 - it didn't matter. A line from their favourite song ran through both their minds right then - _As long as we're together, the rest can go to hell._ It rang so true.

"_..Could wake up at any time now…_"

A strange sentence ran through Robin's head from somewhere or from nowhere, but he was too wrapped up in the moment to even acknowledge it. All that mattered were the arms around him and the ring he was about to introduce to his finger.

~xXx~

"Is that what I think it is?" Alex asked Gene as she glanced at Simon and Robin.

"If you mean a bloody geek convention hen yes, it probably is," said Gene.

"That looks like a proposal to me," said Alex.

Gene mumbled something about scotch and decided to change the subject.

"How's your belly ache, Bols?"

Alex sighed.

"A bit better," she said, "nothing like getting your station blown up to take your mind off your ailments."

Gene sighed sadly.

"All operations have been moved to Fenchurch West while they assess the damage," he said "prisoners have already been moved. I'm allowed in tomorrow to get as much from CID as I can and then we're barred while the inspections take place."

"I'll help you" said Alex.

"Can't, Drakey."

"Why not?

Gene lifted his glass.

"Because I've got an 'ard 'at and you 'aven't," he said.

Alex frowned.

"I can get a hard hat," she said.

"Oh yeah? Where from?"

Alex hesitated.

"The… hard hat shop?" she guessed.

Gene snickered quietly and leaned back.

"It's been a -" he began but Alex cut him off.

"Gene Hunt, if you say this has been a funny old day I am going to personally see to it that you do not live to see any _further_ days; funny, old or otherwise!"

Gene looked a little taken aback.

I was going to say it's been a while since Bammo got on the Karaoke," he lied.

"Oh," Alex eyed him warily.

Gene sipped his beer and glanced at Alex sideways.

"You were right though."

"About what?"

"It _has_ been a funny old day…"

~xXx~

"Why is Alex shoving that cocktail umbrella up Hunt's nose?" Simon asked.

Robin hadn't even noticed.

"Is she?" He finally tore his eyes away from the ring that Simon had placed upon his finger. "Maybe she's trying to clear his airways?"

Simon smiled with a wave of contentment rising through his body. He realised something finally. He'd been wondering why arriving in 1995 had not affected him in the same way that his time in the 80s had. He thought maybe it was because he enjoyed '95 so much the first time around, or the fact that he was going through it for the second time so it hadn't been too much of a shock but now he realised there was only one thing that really made the difference - it was having Robin by his side.

He noticed Robin was rubbing his eyes a little.

"Is the smoke in here getting to you again?"

"Just a bit," Robin admitted, "do you want to go for a walk?"

"I'm surprised Keats didn't scare you off of moonlight walks for life last night," said Simon.

Robin laughed gently.

"What can he do?" he asked, "I wasn't impressed with his video collection. Unless he'd got the X Files in his armoury then there's nothing he can interest me with."

"As long as it's not _One Breath, _right?" Simon joked.

Robin gave a smile.

"Do you fancy a walk then?"

Simon glanced at Gene as he proceeded to extract a small, gaudily coloured object out of his nose.

"I'll join you in two minutes," he said. They exchanged a smile as Robin got to his feet and began to walk away. _"Hey! _Beware of freaks bearing gifts!" he called after him.

"_Will do," _Robin called back.

As Simon crossed the club to where a red-nosed Gene was sitting, Susannah spotted Robin making his exit. Something had deeply unsettled her about the name coincidence and she felt increasingly certain that Robin held more of the truth than anyone. She looked at Malcolm who was distracted with the Karaoke list, trying to decide if he could hit enough of the right notes to belt out a Celine Dion track and decided not to bother him with her intentions. She knew that there was a part of Malcolm that was too scared to probe any further and she didn't want to force him to find out more than he wanted to.

"Listen, Mal, I'm going outside for a moment," she began a little guiltily, "I'm going to see if the paper stall on the corner has tonight's edition out yet."

"Looking for your photo?" teased Malcolm.

"Something like that," Susannah lied. She stood up, finished her drink and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be back before you get on stage," she promised and quickly made her way out of the club.

~xXx~

"That looks sore," Simon commented as Gene rubbed his nose.

"I'm starting to understand how Metal Mickey feels," Gene mumbled, "look at that, Bolly - everyone will think I've pierced me nose now!"

"I warned you not to call it a funny old day," Alex sad innocently.

Simon sank into a tableside Gene and leaned toward him.

"I just came to say thanks," he began.

Gene looked at him, a little confused.

"What for?"

"The pep talk," said Simon, "I needed that."

"That an' the scotch," said Gene. He paused, "I hope you're not about to ask me to be best man."

"As much as I'm sure you'd love to throw a stag night for me with no alcohol and male strippers," Simon giggled at he thought, "I'm afraid not."

"Good," said Gene, "I don't do speeches."

Alex reached out to tap Simon on the arm.

"Congratulations," she said with a smile. She meant it as genuinely as anything but there was a tinge of sadness behind it too. She knew she was wrong to hope for something that she was never going to get but it didn't hurt any the less. When she first discovered that she was still alive, that Keats had likely been halting the progress of resuscitating her, she didn't know how long she would have left with Gene. A few weeks? Months? A couple of years? The fact that they'd had a decade, more or less, meant that now she looked back and saw them as wasted years. They'd spent so much time waiting for the inevitable that they'd forgotten to appreciate every day.

"Where's yer future husband, Mister Shoebury-Thomas?" Gene asked.

That was the first time the engagement felt real to Simon. He felt his cheeks flush and he looked away with a coy smile.

"Gone to get out the smoky club for a while," he said, "I'm joining him for a walk. Anyone else coming?"

"It takes me long enough to get to the door," Gene lamented the state of his leg, "I'd better stay where I am."

"Alex?" asked Simon

Alex didn't want to play gooseberry and made some excuses about her arm and needing to stick umbrellas in places.

"Suit yourselves," said Simon, getting to his feet to find Robin.

Alex gave a sad sigh as she watched him go.

"Love is complicated enough without time getting in the way," she lamented.

Gene raised his glass.

"I'll drink to that," he said.

~xXx~

Robin hadn't been altogether surprised to see a bespectacled figure lurking outside. He'd followed him the last two nights after all - why should tonight be any different?

"What a surprise," he rolled his eyes, "I should have known you'd be waiting."

"And yet you still left the safety of that stinky club," said Keats, "I'm flattered." he paused. "Did you enjoy the video?"

Robin took a deep breath.

"There's a video at home of me somewhere from the school nativity in nineteen eighty seven," he began, "Halfway through, I hit one of the shepherds over the head and try to pull Mary's knickers down." He relished the blank look on Keats's face. "It's not a tape I'd like to enter the public domain. It's not who I am now. It's in the past. I can't to back and make it any different but it's not something I would do again in the future." He stepped closer. "That's the problem with video. It freezes you in a moment any anyone who sees it can only make their judgement on you from that one, captured glimpse." He paused. "Luckily I've had the chance to get to know DCI Hunt better. He's got to spend a lifetime living down his actions on that tape, but I know that's not who he is now."

Keats stared at Robin. He removed his glasses and cleaned them off a little, then put them back on.

"Are you really stupid enough to think that man's changed?" he asked, "he just hides it better these days."

"Where as you're just as much a bastard on the outside as you always were," Robin could feel himself beginning to shake with anger, "what you did to me and Simon back home… If you think a tape can take that away then you're as stupid as you are evil."

"Yes, well," Keats scratched his forehead, "I wasn't quite feeling myself back then."

"No, you were _'feeling' _Simon!" Robin spat.

Keats gave a lopsided smirk.

"Your loyalty to that man is touching," he said, "misplaced, but touching."

"Give up, Keats," Robin hissed, "You're not going to break us up and you're not going to get me to help you bring down CID, no matter what you promise or how many tapes you show me."

Finally Keats gave a smile.

"Actually, I'm afraid you've already don't that," he said, "sorry about that."

Robin frowned, a scowl across his face.

"What?"

"You've already helped me," said Keats, "thank you for that."

"What are you talking about?" Robin demanded.

"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" Keats beamed, before jumping at Robin and yelling, _"Bang!"_

Robin took a step backward, disturbed by his actions.

"_What was?"_

"Tearing through the corridors," Keats marvelled, "Flames and smoke everywhere. All those people caught in the blast… some of them haven't even been found yet." He turned to walk away, glancing over his shoulder to say, "but _I_ found them."

Robin swallowed.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered.

"Didn't make up for letting Simon get away, of course," he continued, "but I won't make that mistake again."

"Tell me what the hell you're going on about," Robin demanded.

"I was there at just the right time," Keats sneered, "to help them move on. All thanks to our friend Nailer and his lovely bomb-making abilities."

Slowly a dreadful realisation came over Robin as the truth dawned upon him. It filled every bone in his body with lead, his whole form becoming heavy and his stomach awash with nausea.

"The photos," he whispered, "the tape was never your bargaining chip at all, was it? That was just a bonus, to have your fun after I'd already given you what you wanted," he swallowed, his body shaking from head to toe. "You wanted us to catch Nailer because you knew about the booby trapped computer."

"You're not the only one who watched news reports in nineteen ninety five, Robin," Keats said amiably, "I remembered them too. Bomb in a computer in the middle of nowhere… bit different when that computer's been seized as evidence and a couple of techies are trying to obtain every scrap of evidence they can.

Robin felt his heart stop for a moment as his mind raced. He'd been used as a pawn, a bloody pawn in a dangerous game.

"You tried to destroy CID by breaking up the team and failed," Robin whispered, "so you went for it in a more literal sense this time."

"I couldn't believe my luck when I saw you and Shoebury waltzing through the corridors" said Keats, "My friend Kimberley wasn't exactly coming through for me. I'm very disappointed in her. I really thought she could see who was on her side, but just like all those before her she ended up flocking back to _The Guv._" He paused and thrust his hands in his coat pockets. "But _you_… fresh into ninety-five, desperate to get home and on the trail of Nick Nailer." He smiled. "It was almost too good to be true."

"What's the deal with Nailer anyway?" Robin demanded, "why are you so interested in him?"

Keats ignored the question.

"Remembered where the explosion was, paid the yard a visit and found him there," Keats continued, "just like I knew he'd be. Took a few snaps and left you a little present."

"And we arrested him just in time for the bomb to wind up at the station," Robin whispered.

Keats smiled as spotted an angry-looking Simon leaving the club and heading in their direction.

"Timing is everything," he said, raising his voice a little and looking past Robin to ask Simon, "what _is_ the time, by the way?"

"Time you fucked off !" cried Simon. Anger flashed in his eyes and pure hatred ran through his veins.

"That's no way to speak to someone you've shared a bed with," Keats gloated.

"You _what-?"_ Simon pulled back his sleeves and strode forward, preparing to take a swing at him but Robin held him back.

"Si**, no, **this isn't the time," he cried.

"I can still see your hairy backside when I close my eyes…" Keats taunted.

"Right! _Now's_ the time," cried Robin, lobbing a punch at Keats's smug face and sending him backwards.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you come outside on your own!" Simon admonished himself.

"He set us up, Simon," Robin cried angrily, "he knew that bomb was in the computer, that's why he left the photographs of Nailer!"

Keats stumbled a little to get back on his feet, a red mark forming on the side of his face. He watched Robin shaking his sore knuckles and sent daggers their way with his glare.

"Got what I wanted," he sneered, "hope you'll both be very happy together."

"I'm sure we will," scowled Simon. He put his arm around Robin and tried to haul him back toward the club.

"He set the whole fucking thing up!" Robin cried.

"Come _on,"_ Simon pulled him a little harder, "we'll talk to Hunt. Leave this slug to crawl around on the pavement. He's not worth any more of our time or energy."

"_Ha!" _Keats gave a laugh, "Time and energy! Two things you don't have!"

"Ignore him," Simon pulled Robin firmly back into the club, leaving Keats to rant and raven nonsensically to himself.

From around the corner, Susannah's head slowly emerged. She had tried to listen to the kafuffle from a distance but had only caught half the story. She was nervous, terrified even, of the bespectacled man before her but her dream played through her mind again and again. She recalled Keats begging her, imploring her to find him; promising that through him she would learn the truth.

Before she knew what was happening she found her feet taking charge of the situation, walking her along the pavement toward him, edging closer to a man she felt sure had once tried to take her life from her. Why was she doing this? She couldn't explain it. She just knew she had to.

Between the pain in his cheekbone and his over-excitable state, it took Keats a few moments to notice Susannah heading closer. It t him even longer to recognise her.

"Well well, DC Kite as I live and breathe." he smirked. Living and breathing were two things he'd tried to steal from her.

"It's _DI _Kite now," Susannah told him quietly.

"Haven't you progressed up the ladder?" Keats raised an eyebrow, "who you been screwing to get that position?"

Susannah licked her dry lips. Her fear was threatening to get the better of her, but she didn't dare let it.

"I'd forgotten how _charming_ you were," she said sarcastically.

"If you've finished insulting me," Keats began and turned to walk away but Susannah called him back.

"Wait!" she cried. She watched him turn slowly back to face her, then gathered her courage in both hands. "I heard Kim talking to you on the phone. I need to know what she knows."

Keats hesitated. A glimmer of hope and promise appeared in his eye as he contemplated the anxious, strained look upon her face. He remembered seeing that expression on the faces of Ray, Chris and Shaz so many years ago.

"'What she knows'?" he repeated, "what kind of thing do you think she knows?"

"I think she knows something about DCI Hunt," said Susannah, "about why people keep disappearing around here. About why we see starlight and wild dogs and other things that aren't really there." She bit her lip. "I think she knows the truth. About all of us."

"So why not ask her?" Keats sighed wearily, starting to walk away.

"Because she's disappeared!" cried Susannah. She jogged a couple of paces to catch him up. _"Please?"_

Keats stared at her for a moment.

"And if I knew the answers you were trying to find," he began, "why should I tell you anyway?"

"Because I've been dreaming about you!" Susannah blurted. She saw Keats raise an eyebrow with interest. "No, not like that…" she shook her head. "I know there's something big. Something's not right. But I don't know what it is. I remember, you know… I remember you died. I _know _you died, and tried to take me in the process. Simon died too, but yet you're both here. How? _Why?"_

Keats stared at Susannah. The desperation in her gaze was beautiful. Exquisite. He could almost taste her anguish. He closed his eyes for a moment as though listening to a beautiful sonata somewhere inside his mind, then gave her a sly smile.

"If you really want to know," he began, "and I mean _really_ want to know, then come with me right now and I'll show you the truth. I'll give you the answers you're looking for. But I'll warn you, the moment you know," he flicked up his collar, "it changes everything." He turned his back to her. "Forever." He took a pace. Two. Three. He glanced behind him to see Susannah still standing in the same spot. "Well?"

Susannah stared at him. She wished there was someone there to hold her hand, to make the decision for her. To trust the man she'd felt try to take her life or to give up her one chance of ever learning the truth? The decision weighed heavily around her shoulders and stole the breath from her lungs.

Finally, a twinkle of starlight made the decision for her.

"I want to know," she whispered, then before she could change her mind she set off after Keats down the dark, cold street to find answers to the questions she wasn't even sure how to ask.


	37. Chapter 36: Waiting on the Platform

**Chapter Thirty Six**

Alex could tell something was wrong the second she saw Robin and Simon walk grimly back into the club. Their spark of joy had been replaced by scowls of misery and anger. Instinctively she got to her feet.

"Call me paranoid," she began, "but I'm guessing something happened out there. Am I right?"

Simon and Robin exchanged a glance. Neither wanted to be the one to break the news.

"Yeah," Simon said quietly, "something happened. Something _Keats-shaped _happened."

"Bloody Keats," Gene got to his feet with a scowl, "we were busy waiting for 'im to send us a message through his specially selected dedications, not hanging about in the street waiting for people to go on 'lovely walks'."

"I never said we were going for a _'lovely' _walk!" cried Simon.

"What happened?" Alex asked nervously, "did he have more tapes for you?"

Robin shook his head slowly.

"I don't think he'll be bothering me any more. Apparently he already got what he wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"The bomb in Nailer's computer," Robin began anxiously, "he knew about it. Remembered the news reports from ninety-five the first time around and used them to his advantage."

"He tipped us off so we could take that computer for evidence," Simon added, "he wanted to destroy Fenchurch East. Wanted to literally bring CID down."

"I think he was hoping the evidence would be kept in the office," Robin said quietly, "I think that's what he wanted most of all, but he caused enough damage to shut us down anyway."

"He's certainly done that," Gene said angrily, "I can't believe that bastard set us up!" he stood up and tried to kick the table but succeeded only in pulling his stitches and yelping.

"We weren't to know," Alex pointed out patiently, "we weren't to have any idea. He's never been linked with explosives before."

"Yes, well," Gene turned red with anger, "we've still been played for a barrel of mugs and we fed right into his plan."

"What's done is done," Alex pointed out quickly, "there's no point getting angry with ourselves about this. He's the one who set us up - let's concentrate on finding _him_ and making him pay."

"What does he want to shut you down _for?" _Robin asked, "I've never… never understood. What's he going to get for taking you down?"

Gene straightened his jaw.

"It's me he wants," he said, "he thinks if he gets me out the way he can step into my shoes. Well, I'm telling you this much," he took a large gulp of his drink, "stab-hole or no stab-hole, my boots are far too big for a mollusc like Keats to try to fill."

Alex began to feel a little woozy. Whether it was the wine or the thought of Keats playing such an evil game she wasn't sure but something wasn't right. She stumbled back into her seat and held her head.

"We've got to be on alert," she said quietly, "moreso than ever. He's playing a stupid and dangerous game but sooner or later he'll come a step to close and we'll have him."

"We can't get him for this," Gene snapped angrily, "we've got no proof he set us up. There's no evidence he knew about the bomb. How_ can _there be? He saw it on a newsflash after it happened before it happened in another time where it happened differently!"

"Stop saying 'happened'!" cried Simon, "you're making my brain rot trying to even think about it!"

"We can't arrest 'im on a paradox," Gene said crossly.

"We _will _get him one way or another," Alex said firmly, "but he's slippery. We've lost this one, Gene. We'll win the next one." She looked at him seriously, "next time he'll slip up and we will be waiting."

Gene stared at her. He wanted to argue, to continue ranting and raving, the anger at Keats successfully pulling off something so audacious eating away at him inside, but he also knew she was right. There was no going back and changing it, nor could he prove anything that would lead to Keats' arrest. Watching the news and remembering what he'd seen wasn't a crime. Tipping them off about the location of a wanted man wasn't a crime. There was nothing he could do to make this one stick.

"The next time around," he said crossly, "whatever he chooses to attack us with… whatever he tries… we'll be waiting with an open pair of handcuffs." He paused. "Right?"

Three heads nodded.

"Yes, Guv," they said quietly.

"Good," said Gene. He waved his glass in the direction of Simon and Robin. "Now bugger off and enjoy your evening. I'm not having that greasy tosspot spoiling yer big day." He watched as they hesitated. "Go on - get lost! Go and tell that DJ to put on _Charmless Man_ in his honour."

Simon glanced around and his expression fell in horror like a small child being served sprouts for lunch.

"Oh no, not _him_ again," he sighed, "he's the worst DJ ever."

"Gene's right," Alex began, "don't let this ruin your evening."

Simon and Robin looked at one another. Keats' revelation had knocked them for six but they knew that the problem would still be there tomorrow.

"After all you planned earlier," Robin said quietly, "I don't want Keats to get between us tonight."

Simon breathed deeply. He hated that the evil man had done his best to intrude on their special night. As much as it burned him to think of Keats playing them all for fools he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him ruin their night.

"Right," he said, "Keats has ruined too many nights for me as it is." A piece of music began and Simon held out his hand. "Shall we dance?"

Robin looked around nervously. No one else was dancing.

"I feel like a prat," he admitted.

"So?" Simon pulled him towards the stage, "We're gonna wake up tomorrow and no one's going to know about it but us!"

"_What about when Alex wakes up?" _Robin tried feebly but Simon wasn't taking no for an answer and Robin found himself dancing conspicuously to _Alright_.

Malcolm wandered over looking a little lost.

"Guv; Missus Guv," he addressed them, "have you seen Susannah?"

Alex frowned.

"_Missus Guv?" _she repeated.

"Madam Guv?" Malcolm tried.

"You might as well call her _Guv With The Almighty Bazongas_ and _really_ make her feel comfortable!" snapped Gene, "no, we haven't seen her. When did you lose her?"

"She went to get a paper and never came back," Malcolm said anxiously.

"She's probably signing copies for the first aid groupies," said Gene.

"Maybe she went home?" Alex suggested, "it's been a long day."

Malcolm hesitated. He was as sure as he could be that Susannah would never wander home without him but he didn't want to argue about it.

"Maybe," he said quietly, "I think I'll go and look for her."

Alex sighed as she watched him leave.

"How did Susannah get so much right today when she got my arm so _very_ wrong?" she wondered.

~xXx~

"_He-e-e-e-ey,_" the _smoooooooooth_ DJ began as _Supergrass_ stopped playing, "we're playing all your requests tonight, and we've got one for the happy couple coming up next. We've got word that a couple of loved-up clubbers got engaged right here tonight! So without further ado, here's last year's Christmas number one, _Stay Another Day, _for Robin and _Simone!"_

"That's _Simon!" _Simon complained. He glanced around. "Is this one real or another wind-up?"

"Romantic wind-up if it is," said Robin, "just dance will you? I'm in the mood for it now."

Simon moved in closer until he and Robin began to sway slowly in time with the music, their arms embracing one another as closely as they could. Right there and then they could have been a million miles away. 1995 was forgotten. Their accident was forgotten. The explosion, Robin's father, Nick Nailer - all forgotten. Nothing else existed; just two people, very much in love, facing all the obstacles together.

Just as Simon was truly relaxing into the motion of their dance, Robin pulled away slightly.

"_Meet me in the toilets in two minutes," _he whispered.

Simon looked at him his mouth open in surprise.

"What?"

"_Toilets; two minutes," _Robin repeated, a glint of something naughty in his eye.

Simon watched as Robin left him, heading to their intended destination, and a tint smirk began to appear on his face.

"It's like _Queer as Folk_, all over again!" he cried.

Robin turned back with a laugh.

"Not out for another four years," he said.

~xXx~

Alex clutched her head with her hand and tried to hide it from Gene. She gave a fake smile and pretended everything was hunky-dory, feigning a tilted head of interest rather than a depressingly severe headache. She did her best to nod in all the right places as Gene ran through his fascinating repertoire of shoe-related marriage jokes to test them out before unleashing them on Simon but the constant throbbing was getting to her.

Out of the blue, a flash of white smothered her vision and the brilliance of the light took away her ability to speak. It came from nowhere like someone shining a light into her eyes, peeling back her eyelids to expose the terrified pupils below. The brighter the light grew, the more intense the pressure inside her head.

She couldn't move, couldn't speak, had no sense of who or where she was. She desperately wished that she could move, to cry out, to scream but her body was paralysed.

"…_significantly improved responses -"_ a voice blasted into the head, then stopped as soon as it began.

Like the slamming of a door or the closing of an eyelid the brilliant white light ceased and Alex regained her own sight. Once more in control she could move and speak, although all that came out was a tiny squeak to begin with. The pain in her head slowly faded until there as nothing but a pinprick of discomfort. She blinked and rubbed her eyes as though waking up in the morning and tried to get her bearings.

"I know they weren't my best work but my jokes surely weren't bad enough that you had to fall asleep on me!" Gene commented, slightly offended.

Alex's mouth felt very dry.

"I wasn't asleep," she whispered, "something happened, something…" She recalled her nightmare from the previous night. A vision of her own face laying in her hospital bed came back to her with a vengeance and she moved her head sharply to send it away. "I think I'm getting a migraine, that's all."

Gene swallowed nervously as he stared at her. Just when he'd thought she was getting better, she seemed to have taken a downward turn. His worries about her began to swell inside him again and he turned to his drink to try to forget them. Memories of his own nightmare haunted him and he wished he could push it out of his mind, but no matter ho hard he tried it wouldn't go away, stuck there like an elephant in a lift.

Without thinking, he leaned toward her and almost involuntarily placed a small kiss on the top of her head. The gesture took Alex by surprise. Whatever they did behind closed doors, in public he was the same old Gene, never one for displaying a lot of affection.

"What was that for?" she asked, a smile flickering onto her lips.

Gene cleared his throat and glanced around to make sure no one had seen him.

"Shoebury hasn't got the monopoly on romance, you know," he mumbled, then shuffled off to the bar.

~xXx~

A tearing of clothes, a raging of lust, a pumping of blood, an explosion of need. For Simon and Robin it felt like their first time all over again. Something had changed between then that day. They'd grown closer, stronger, bonded more solidly than ever before. Like over-sexed teenagers they grasped the thrill of their toilet rendezvous with both hands and made full use of every inch of the cubicle. So unlike them… so _very_ unlike them… respectable police officers committing an act of indecency in a public place and not giving a damn about it.

"_This is our night," _was the only thing Simon had said during the whole time they were acting on their wild desires.

As their passion came to an end the two men faced each other, seeing the same spark reflected in each other's eyes. They felt alive, on fire, so full of life and energy. Simon gently stroked the side of Robin's face as he gazed into his eyes and wrapped him up in the warmth of a smile.

"_You're amazing," _he whispered.

Robin stared back at him. He'd never experienced so many emotions all in one day. The anguish of the afternoon slipped away as he found himself swept up in the elation of the night.

"I wish this night never had to end," he breathed.

"Then maybe it doesn't," Simon said so quietly that barely a sound left his lips. Slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned forward, his lips aching to feel Robin's against them. Further he leaned, further still, until he found himself kissing the door of the cubicle.

His eyes flew open in surprise and his attention was called to a jingling of metal on the floor. He glanced down to see Robin's ring bouncing and spinning on the ground until it finally came to a halt by his feet. Where his lover had stood only moments earlier he now found only thin air, Robin's final breath dissipating before him.

"_Robin?" _his voice was quiet and broken, like a lost child looking for someone familiar in the supermarket. _"Rob?"_

No reply.

Nothing.

Simon closed his eyes and leaned back against the door. The shock washed over him first. How could someone vanish into thin air? He had to be there somewhere… had to be waiting just outside.

Hurriedly he fumbled his shirt buttons back together and pulled up his trousers, his fingers shaking as he tried to fasten the buckle. He slowly opened the door and peered outside.

"Robin?" he asked. But all he saw were a couple of slightly pissed gentlemen having a competition to see who could pee the highest up a wall.

He stepped back into the cubicle and closed the door behind him. Slowly he bent down and scooped up the ring. It shone and glistened before him, the light catching its facets like starlight. All at once the realisation stuck Simon, beginning in his chest where his heart thumped harder than ever before, then stretching out to every limb and every digit, his whole body tingling with joy and elation.

"_He made it,"_ he cried, thumping his fists against the side of the cubicle, then kicking the opposite side, rebounding off it with a leap of ecstasy, "he bloody made it _back!" _He gave the door one last thump, his ears ringing and mind racing. Finally slowing down as his initial physical response to his emotions came under control, he came to a halt and stared at the ring. A smile spread across his face. "You made it home Robin," he whispered, "I _knew_ you would."

With a deep breath he slipped the ring onto his own finger and stared at it intensely. He could see his reflection in parts of the shiny metal and caught his own smile.

"Alright," he whispered,_ "you're _safe… now it's my turn."

With one last scan of the cubicle with his eyes, just in case, Simon opened the door and stepped back out into the world. His heart burned brightly, like he had a secret that no one else knew. There was a spring in every step he took as he left the toilets and walked back to the club.

He caught sight of Alex sitting alone, her head slightly bowed and her face a little pale. At the bar stood Gene, getting in a measure of something highly potent and trying not to draw attention to the fact that he had one leg slightly above ground level.

He slipped quietly into Gene's vacant space and looked at Alex.

"_Robin's gone," _he whispered.

Alex looked up, a little confused.

"Too tired to stay?" she asked.

Simon leaned forward.

"He's _gone,_ Alex," he whispered, "_home."_

Alex frowned, not sure she was following him.

"_Home…?"_

"_Home,"_ a giddy smile spread across his lips, "he made it, Alex. He was strong enough. He woke up and he disappeared. Just like that! _Vanished."_

A mixture of emotions flashed across Alex's face all at once, coupled with a flash of light and a voice inside her head but she pushed those away.

"That's _wonderful," _she said eventually. She felt so pleased for Robin, to know that he was safe and strong. She genuinely felt elated to see another one make it back, it always felt like a little victory when someone pushed back through to the other side. But this time it was different. _Bittersweet. _Like a long train journey to visit a dear friend or loved one, she thought - it was always harder for the one left standing on the platform.

Simon held out his hand.

"When he disappeared," he began quietly, "the ring stayed. I'm going to wear it. Keep it safe until I get to join him, the I can give him the real one." He leaned back and felt another wave of elation spread through his body. "Now it's _my_ turn," he said firmly, "my turn to wake up." He closed his eyes and relished the thought of getting back home. "Two thousand and ten," he whispered, _"Bring it on!"_


	38. Chapter 37: Snap, Cackle & Plop

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

Simon an along the never-ending corridor, stopping only to open doors and peer anxiously inside.

"_Robin?"_ he cried, "_Robin?"_

There was no sign of him so he tried another door.

"_Robin? Where are you?"_

His pace was getting frantic now, his feet pounding on the ground taking him further and faster all the time. Eventually he came to the final door and opened it slowly.

On the other side was a naked Jim Keats.

"_Boo!"_ he yelled, dragging Simon out of his dream. He sat up in bed, gasping for breath. He could feel his heart rate sky high and his palms were damp with sweat.

"_Shit,"_ he cursed under his breath. Glancing at the empty space beside him he came to realise all over again that Robin was no longer in 1995 with him. The euphoria of the night before was starting to fade and give way to a deep, lonely feeling. He couldn't describe his joy at knowing Robin had made it home but that didn't mean to say that he wasn't missing him terribly, and it had only been a few hours.

"_Got to be today then,"_ he told himself firmly. Yesterday was all about Robin; today was going to be Simon's day for waking up and getting home.

Hoping to gather some clues, Simon switched on the little TV set in the bedroom and _The Big Breakfast _came into focus. Gaby Roslin sat beside Mark Little, reading from a couple of cards.

"Not one of the golden eras," Simon noted sadly. He'd missed the Chris Evans years and was still a couple of years away from the Johnny and Denise partnership. He watched for a few minutes in the hope that maybe Zig and Zag would be talking to one of his doctors to give him some idea of how he was doing or that Mark Lamarr would go and knock on his father's door for an edition of _Down Your Doorstep_ but neither occurred.

The news began and Peter Smith covered some of the day's top stories while Simon reluctantly got out of bed and began to dress.

"_Today specialist teams will begin assessing the damage caused to Fenchurch East Police Station by a bomb thought to have been concealed inside a computer seized as evidence on Tuesday,"_ the newsreader began. Simon gave a scowl and an unhappy mumble, contemplating Keats and his sly tactics. His anger at the bespectacled devil was so strong that he lost concentration and toppled over while trying to pull on a sock.

"_A woman has died after being beaten by her husband in East London. Jeffrey Thomas, a forty-one year old chef, was arrested yesterday after police were called to a disturbance reported by a neighbour."_

A dreadful sinking feeling ran through Simon, settling in the pit of his stomach. In al the excitation the previous evening he had managed to bury the events of the afternoon somewhat.

"_And finally," _Peter Smith concluded, _"today, Robin Thomas is waking up back in his home time of two thousand and ten…"_

Simon froze as those words reached his ears. He could hardly believe what he'd heard. He turned to the screen and saw Peter looking directly at him, giving Simon the confirmation he wanted about Robin's safety.

"…_Awakening from a week-long coma after a serious car accident, the immediate family of his …CCCCSSSSSHHHHHHHKKKKK…"_

Static took over the screen causing Simon to swear.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he cried, slapping the side of the TV screen and bending the aerial into a hundred different positions. Peter's face and voice faded in and out but couldn't form anything coherent enough for Simon to understand.

"…_will be…. CCCKKKSSSSSHHHHHKKK… later today to assess the condition of… CCCCCCSSSHHHHHHKKKK… was thirty two when he… CCCCSSSHHHHKKKKK…"_

"Come _on!"_ Simon cried, giving the TV one last thump.

The screen cleared and the picture came back on but the news had finished and a competition had started instead.

"It's time to play Guess the Mess!" Gaby Roslin announced.

"_It's Simon's brain!"_ someone shouted from off camera.

Simon scowled.

"Stupid bastard TV set!" he cried and switched it off in anger.

He decided to forego breakfast and head straight to Fenchurch East. Despite Gene's best attempts to ban anyone who didn't have an_ 'ard 'at _from helping he knew it would be all hands on deck to get as much property out of the crumbling building as they could.

It was strange, he considered as he walked along, how much at home he felt in '95. This was only his forth day but he felt as though he'd been there for an eternity already. He could still smell smoke and a general waft of burnt _somethings_ as he arrived just outside the station. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became about the situation with the booby trapped computer. He remembered Nailer suddenly changing his mind about legal representation the day before. Had he been stalling for time, knowing the bomb was likely to detonate soon?

As he became a little lost in his thoughts a set of footsteps clattered up to him and a breathless Malcolm appeared by his side.

"Sir!" he cried.

Simon glanced round, a little surprised.

"Malcolm," he began, "is everything OK? You look a little…" he surveyed the frantic state his friend was in, "a _lot_ flustered."

Malcolm tried to catch his breath but the words spilled forth before he could compose himself.

"It's Susannah, she's missing," he garbled.

"Missing?"

"She disappeared last night," Malcolm panted, "she said she was going to get a paper and she never came back."

"Has she not been home at all?" asked Simon.

"No, I waited all night," Malcolm swallowed, the fear rising inside of him.

Simon took a deep breath.

"OK, don't panic," he began, "I'm sure she's fine…"

"Well I'm not," said Malcolm.

Simon hesitated. He got a sense that there was something Malcolm wasn't telling him.

"Malcolm… is there a reason why you're so concerned about her?" he asked, "anything you want to tell me?"

Malcolm's eyes darted around a little nervously. Thoughts of his nightmare returned to him, the visions of Keats and Simon tucked up together in bed, and he couldn't feel sure that Simon was to be trusted. But on the other hand, thoughts of Susannah's nightmare also came to mind and he couldn't shake the sense of dread.

"Sir, " he began awkwardly, "how do I know I can trust you?"

Simon was a little taken aback by his question.

"What makes you think you _can't?"_ he countered.

Malcolm looked away for a moment, couldn't bring himself to look Simon in the eye.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he began "but have you ever been a… an item with…" he swallowed, the words sticking in his throat, "DCI Keats?"

A violent wave of nausea struck Simon. He almost retched right there and then. Malcolm's question filled him with dread, horror and anger.

"_Keats?" _he spat, "Jim _Keats?_ Malcolm, how could you _ever_ think…" he trailed off with a frown, "Is this connected with those weird questions you were asking me yesterday about infidelity and duvets?"

Malcolm looked down.

"I shouldn't have asked," he mumbled, "sorry, Sir."

Simon stared at Malcolm.

"Yeah, but you _did_ ask," he began, "and now I want to know why. What could possibly make you think that? No one hates that evil amoeba more than I do. I wouldn't give him the time of day, let alone give him a…"

"I'm sorry," Malcolm apologised again.

"What's any of this got to do with Susannah anyway?" Simon demanded, "I can't see any connection, unless…" he paused. "Was _Susannah_ having an affair with him?"

"Good god, no!" cried Malcolm.

"Then _what?"_

Malcolm hesitated. He still had reservations about how much Simon could be trusted but he knew this was his best shot at finding Susannah.

"Susannah and me…" he began, "we overheard Kim talking on the phone a couple of days ago. It sounded like whoever she was talking to wanted her to work against the team. To set us up or spy on us or something. Susannah did last number redial and we found out who she was talking to."

"Keats?" Simon guessed correctly.

Malcolm nodded.

"Something weird has been going on, Sir," Malcolm blurted, "it's been going on for a few weeks but got worse when you arrived. You… came back from the dead! So did Keats! We've been seeing things… hallucinations… when I freaked out about that dog it wasn't because of the tiny thing the old woman had… I saw it as a much bigger dog, a really vicious, violent dog, attacking me. There have been voices and stars. I think… I think I'm going mad."

Simon flinched as he recalled reading about Malcolm's death back in 2010, losing his life saving a small child from a dangerous dog. He knew that there were questions he couldn't answer for Malcolm, but needed to ask some more of his own.

"So when you found out Kim had been talking to Keats what did you do?" he asked.

"We were going to confront Kim," Malcolm told him, "ask her what Keats wanted her to do. Ask her what she knew. Simon, Hunt's got secret files on her… her papers have this weird sheet about coming from two thousand and _three!_ We were going to ask her to tell us the truth but she never came in to work yesterday."

Simon shuddered.

"Has anyone been to check on her?" he asked.

"We tried knocking on her door but there was no reply," said Malcolm, "Sir, we heard her telling Keats to get lost… that she wouldn't help him any more. What if he's done something? What if he's dealt with Kim and is coming after the rest of us? He could have taken Susannah… he tried to kill her once before."

"When did you say you last saw her?" Simon asked.

"Last night in the club," said Malcolm, "she went to check the paper stand."

"What time was this?"

"About half nine?" Malcolm estimated.

Simon hesitated. Until that moment he hadn't been too concerned but recalling the presence of Keats lurking around outside began to worry him.

"I think we need to find DCI Keats," he said, "as a matter of high priority."

"We don't know where he is," said Malcolm.

"Then we need to find Kim and maybe she can lead us to him."

"I told you, she's vanished."

"Well let's just double check that, shall we?" asked Simon, "have you got your car?"

"Yes."

"And Kim's address?" Malcolm nodded. "drive us over right now," said Simon,

Malcolm bit his lip for a moment.

"I'm not paranoid, am I?" he asked, but it was a statement, not a question.

"No," Simon said quietly, "I don't think you're paranoid."

Malcolm's anxiety increased tenfold. He'd almost wanted Simon to disagree with him, to say he didn't think there was anything to worry about, but he could see from the look in his eyes that there was definitely something to fear. He just hoped and prayed that they would find Susannah safe and well because from what he knew of Keats, if he was involved then the odds would not be in her favour.


	39. Chapter 38: All Eyes on Simon

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

"Is this it?" Simon asked as he slammed the door of Malcolm's car.

"That's the one, number thirty-four," said Malcolm, pointing to a tiny terraced house with a crumbling blue door.

They raced down the short pathway and knocked furiously on the door.

"Ow!" cried Simon.

"What's wrong?"

"_Paint splinter!"_

A few moments passed with no response.

"Should we try again?" Malcolm asked.

Simon nodded and rapped for a second time, this time being careful not to disturb the flaking paint. When there was still no response he began to feel highly anxious.

"It's not looking good is it?" he said, "she's either legged it or…" he trailed off and glanced at Malcolm.

"Should we call the fire brigade?" he asked.

"No time," said Simon. He cringed a little and took a few step backwards. "I cannot believe I'm about to do this," he cried as he ran forward and jammed his shoulder hard at the door. _"Ow!"_ He jumped around, clinging to his upper arm.

"That always works when Hunt does it," Malcolm commented helpfully.

"Well I'm not Hunt!" cried Simon, "now are you going to help me or stand around looking like you're going to start singing _Common People_ at any moment?"

This time both men drew back and charged together. The weakened door flew off its hinges and they gained access to the pokey house.

"Don't think much of the décor," Malcolm blurted before he could rein in his words.

Simon began to charge through the house.

"_Kim?"_ he cried, _"KIM?"_

He poked his head into a fairly bare lounge, then looked into the tiny kitchen but there was no sign yet.

"Try upstairs?" suggested Malcolm.

Together they thumped up the narrow staircase, calling her name again.

"_Kim?"_ Simon called loudly.

"Kim, where are you?" Malcolm added.

At the top of the stairs Simon ran towards the bathroom while Malcolm took the bedroom. Finding no sign of her in the bathroom, Simon began to wonder if they'd acted a little hastily but a cry from Malcolm proved they'd made the right choice.

"_She's in here, sir!" _

Simon ran to the bedroom and found Malcolm staring at the bed. Upon the out-of-date brown and green bedspread lay Kim, her hands tied behind her back, ankles bound and a gag across her mouth. Her wrists were raw from struggling to free herself and her hair matted with sweat.

"Oh _God," _Simon breathed, lunging forward and working on the ropes that her feet and wrists were bound by while Malcolm began to remove her gag, "Kim? Kim, can you hear me OK?"

As her gag fell from her mouth she began to gasp; _"Water… water,"_ again and again, her voice broken and raspy.

"I'll get some," Malcolm offered and quickly left the room as Simon finished untying her wrists.

"Kim, are you alright?" Simon asked urgently.

Kim gasped for breath and shook hr hands, trying to dispel some of the pain in her wrists.

"Yes," she croaked.

Malcolm arrived with a glass of water.

"Here," he said quietly. She tried to take the glass from him but her hands were too weak and trembling too much. "Let me help you," Malcolm offered, holding it to her lips. Kim drank thirstily for a few moments, then drew her head back and gasped a few more times, trying to catch her breath.

"What the hell happened?" Simon asked, already half-guessing the answer.

"Some bastard DCI, that's what happened," Kim spat, her voice a little clearer now.

"Keats," Simon said quietly. It was a statement, not a question.

"What happened?" Malcolm asked, "do you need an ambulance…?"

Kim shook her head, her breath starting to return to a normal pace.

"No, please," she whispered, "just… just get the fucker."

"What did he do?" Simon asked as he checked her wrists to see how bad the damage was.

"He…" Kim began but hesitated. "He's angry with me," was all she'd say.

"We know you made a deal with Keats," Malcolm told her, "Susannah and me… we heard you on the phone." He noted that Kim looked fairly ashamed and hung her head slightly. "We also heard you telling him to stick it."

"What did he ask you to do? Simon asked gently.

"He seemed like a different person when I first met him," Kim said quietly, "I was lost, I didn't belong here… he seemed to understand that. He said the Guv was keeping me here and told me he was trying to cut the dead wood out of CID. He'd just taken charge of CID at Fenchurch West and…"

"Fenchurch West?" Simon repeated.

"He said he needed a good team. Wanted the best. He asked me to help him recruit some of our team and turn them against Hunt so he could snap them up. Offered me promotion and everything."

"Yeah, this is sounding familiar," said Simon.

"But all I wanted was to get home." she hung her head. "I did everything he said, I thought he _liked _me… so I…" she trailed off, "if this ever got out back home…"

"If _what_ ever got out?" asked Simon.

Kim looked down at the bedspread, a little afraid to meet Simon's gaze.

"I thought he _liked _me," she repeated.

As he looked at her expression the truth began to dawn on Simon.

"You slept with him?" he asked quietly.

"He was different at first!" she reiterated.

Simon closed his eyes and exhaled audibly.

"_Shit,"_ he whispered.

"But then he changed," Kim said quietly, "he stopped being a man and turned into a monster. When he asked me to sabotage CID's work and plant evidence around the office I told him I'd had enough. He'd been stringing me along all that time. I left his stuff at his office and thought that was the end of it, until he paid me a visit on Tuesday night."

"You've been tied up since then?" Malcolm asked.

Kim nodded slowly. She didn't want to expand on that any further, the humiliation, the embarrassment, the pain.

"Why did Keats ask _you_ for help?" Malcolm asked.

"He knew I was different," she whispered, "I didn't belong here." She put her head in her hands. "I'm not a slut, I'm not a slapper… I was lonely… my… well, they're not with me now…"

"Hey, it's OK," Simon said quickly. He knew only too well the lengths Keats would go to in order to get what he wants. "Kim, we need you to tell us where his office is. Can you remember?"

Kim nodded.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Because we need to find him," Simon continued.

"Susannah's missing," Malcolm began, "it's got to be down to Keats."

Kim swallowed hard.

"How could I have been taken in by someone like him?" she whispered.

"You're not the first one and you won't be the last," Simon told her. He stood up and held out a hand. "Can you walk?"

Slowly Kim took his hand and climbed off the bed. Her legs were still a little weak but with the support of Simon and Malcolm she got down the stairs and into the car.

"Where's Fenchurch West?" asked Simon.

"Get to the main road, I can direct you from there," said Kim.

Malcolm gave Simon a sideways glance.

"I thought DCI Drake said you transferred in from there," he said.

Simon bit his lip and pretended not to have heard. Instead he pulled his radio from his pocket, still in his possession from the day before, and hoped that someone would respond.

"_Hunt, it's Simon," _he tried, "_are you there? Over?" _He waited and listened but no reply came._ "Hunt! Are you receiving me?" _Another long pause and more silence. "Come on, Gene! This is important!"

Finally there was a little static and some shuffling noises before a voice boomed,

"_Shoebury, give me a chance, bloody buried it under a pile of papers, didn't I? What's the panic? Sandals caught on fire?"_

"We think Keats has got Susannah," Simon said urgently.

There was a telling silence on the radio.

"Where _is_ the prick?" Gene eventually asked.

"Kim says he's working at Fenchurch West," Simon told him, "He had paid her a visit. Left her tied up because she wouldn't do his dirty work. Malcolm says Susannah hasn't been home all night."

"_What makes him think Jimbo's got his hands on Kite?"_

"They…" he glanced nervously at Malcolm, "they heard Kim talking to him on the phone. Susannah went missing at the same time Keats was hanging around last night. If Keats found out she was snooping into his connection with Kim…"

"_I get it," _Gene replied, "_good old Jim's on a clean-up operation."_

"We're on our way there now," said Simon, "how soon can you and Alex get there?"

"Have you never seen me drive, Shoebury?" Gene huffed.

Simon gave a nervous smile.

"Just get there as fast as you can," he said.

He put the radio away and stared out of the windscreen as Malcolm drove along, following Kim's directions. An anxious feeling built up inside of him. Where Keats was concerned the worst case scenario was usually the one to unfold and he didn't like where that thought was leading.

~xXx~

Arriving at Fenchurch West Police Station, Simon and Malcolm leapt out of the car and raced to the entrance with Kim a few paces behind. They burst through the doors and slammed to a halt at the desk.

"Fenchurch East," he said breathlessly, pulling out his ID, "we need access to your CID offices immediately."

The female officer behind the desk looked shocked by their entrance. She stood up and looked at them seriously.

"If you'd like to take a seat I'll ask someone to come and show you to your new offices," she said.

"_Our new…?" _Simon was confused for a moment until he remembered the transfer of staff to Fenchurch West temporarily while the reconstruction work took place. He shook his head. "No time for that," he said.

"I know the way," said Kim, "follow me."

She rushed past them and the two men followed while the officer behind the desk called fruitlessly for them to stop. The three arrivals had no intention of stopping, with Kim leading them through corridors and up staircases until they reached a level that was familiar to her.

"This is it," she said, leading them through an open plan office, not unlike their own. There were people working at some of the desks, eyeing them warily and wondering what the invasion was about. Beyond them lay a smaller office with the name of one Jim Keats emblazoned upon the door. Ignoring the cries of "_You can't go in there!" _and pleas for them to show their ID they burst through the door and scanned the room quickly.

"No one here," said Malcolm, "no sign of Susannah… no sign of Keats."

"Dos he have another office?" he asked Kim.

"No, no, not that I know of," Kim said quickly.

"What about the basement?" Simon asked,

"_Is _there a basement?" asked Malcolm.

"Keats favours basements," Simon reminded him, "if there's one here that's where he'll be."

"There _is_ one," Kim began, looking flushed in the cheeks, "He… uh, mentioned it once… But it's unused."

Simon stared at Kim.

"You did it in the basement, didn't you?" he watched her hang her head, her cheeks glowing with shame. "Can you take us there?"

"I think so," Kim said quietly, then led them out of CID and down, down, down until they reached a dusty, cobweb-filled space. "It's down there," Kim said quietly.

Simon took a deep breath.

"Let's see what's down there," he said.

He fumbled for a light switch and managed to find one but the single hanging bulb made little difference to the darkness. Carefully making their way down the stairs, they could hear a muffled voice making urgent noises and found themselves faced with a large, locked wooden door. Through the glass panel within it they saw a frantic but unharmed Susannah throwing herself around, trying to create enough noise to get someone's attention.

"There she is!" cried Malcolm, "Susie!"

He pressed his hands against the glass as Susannah ran over to the door and tried to communicate something to them.

"_Hmmms hhr heeeeeee" _the muffled voice cried.

"What?" Malcolm frowned, "we can't hear you."

"_There's a key," _Susannah tried again, louder and more clearly.

"A key?" Simon repeated, over-exaggerating his lip movements to Susannah so she could understand him.

"_By the door," _she yelled, _"he dropped it outside the door."_

Immediately Simon and Malcolm began looking for it while Kim nervously glanced around, watching for any approaching Keatses.

"Hurry up," she urged, "we don't have a lot of time."

"_Can you see it yet?" _Susannah asked, peering through the window and thumping on the glass.

"It's just like _The Crystal Maze, _this! Malcolm commented excitedly, _"'…Can you see what you have to do?' '…Can you see the crystal yet?' '…How much time have I got…?"_

Simon looked at him aghast.

"Yeah well, while you're off in Aztec Zone the rest of us are busy trying to rescue your girlfriend, Richard O'Brien! In case you hadn't noticed this is a lock in!"

"And we've got no crystals to buy her out with," Kim added.

Malcolm felt suitable admonished and went back to searching. In a gap between a couple of random bricks he saw something glinting in the dim light and fished it out.

"I've got it!" he cried.

Simon took the key and slipped it into the lock. It was a little rusty and took a few moments to work.

"Hurry up, I can hear something," Kim hissed.

"I'm trying!" hissed Simon. Finally the key turned with a satisfying click and he door opened inwards. Susannah and Malcolm threw themselves into a relieved embrace while Simon peered around the dingy space. Although the room was supposedly 'unused', amongst all the clutter and storage there was one perfectly neat desk set up with a computer, a small dot matrix printer, two TV sets and a photocopier, on which Keats had likely been photocopying his bottom.

"How the hell did you end up here?" he asked.

Susannah drew back from Malcolm to look at Simon.

"He said he could show me the truth," she cried, "I saw him arguing with you and Robin last night."

"Keats?"

Susannah nodded.

"He said he could give me answers… I knew I shouldn't have trusted him but…"

"What did he do?" Malcolm looked at her anxiously. "did he hurt you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Susannah felt tears of distress come to her eyes. "he brought me down here and told me I'd never see the truth if I stayed with DCI Hunt. He said he's eating away at us and he wanted to save us. I asked him what he meant and begged him for the truth but he told me he was waiting until he had a full house to break the news, then locked me in."

Simon's eyes open wide.

"A full house?" he whispered.

As slow methodical footsteps came toward them all four faces turned to see the sight that they'd been dreading. At the top of the staircase a silhouette cast a formidable sight; his legs apart in a confident and triumphant stance, hands on his hips, coat flowing around his body. Although his features were hidden by the darkness no one had an ounce of doubt who the figure was.

"The bait worked then, did it?" he asked. Stunned into silence, the others could do nothing but watch as the shadowy figure made his way down the stairs toward them. "Trap one little maggot and all the fish come swimming round. "

Simon turned to face him, his eyes flashing with fury.

"Keats," he hissed.

"I heard on the grapevine we'd been stormed by fools from Fenchurch East and I knew who I was going to find." he glanced at Kim. "Wasn't expecting to see _you_ though." he smiled. "I thought you _liked_ a bit of bondage…"

"Bastard," she hissed and made a lunge forward but Keats silenced her with a blow to her stomach from his foot. As she screamed and dropped to the ground Simon instinctively dropped beside her to make sure she was OK while Malcolm and Susannah clung to each other, hoping and praying for some kind of divine intervention to save them from the man, the moment and the mess they were in.

"I'd be careful what you say and do," he warned Kim, "you don't want anyone to find out about our fun and games. What would your little Sandra do if she found out?"

"She's not going to find out because you're just in my _head_," Kim spat, doubled over in pain.

Keats gave a laugh of genuine amusement.

"Did you hear that?" he turned to the others, "she thinks I'm in her head! A figment of her imagination. I'd watch out for those delusions if I were you, Kimberley. I have a habit of following people home." His eyes shifted, "don't I, Simon?"

As the others glanced at Simon, hoping for him to elaborate on Keats's statement, he stayed silent and stared back at him, waiting for him to go on. His brush with Keats in 2010 was the darkest moment of his life and wasn't something he wished to discuss. Luckily for him, Keats had more talking to do.

"Thought your _superiors_ might have had the decency to tag along though," he sneered, "after all, this is their mess."

"What is?" Susannah whispered.

"The truth."

"_What_ truth?"

"_He_ knows," Keats gestured to Simon with a nod of his head, "Don't you, Simon?" Again, the eyes of his colleagues turned expectantly to Simon but he kept silent except for swallowing so loudly he felt sure the others heard. "Don't you think it's time you let them in on Hunt's dirty little secret?"

Simon's mouth grew as dry as the desert.

"It's not my secret to tell," he whispered.

"Sir?" Susannah looked at him anxiously, "is that true? Do you know what's going on?"

"If you know something you have to tell us," Malcolm implored him.

"Can you tell me how to get home?" Kim whispered.

Simon glanced around their faces, all desperate for answers. He licked his dry lips, desperately wishing for a way out, but he was trapped both literally and metaphorically.

"Why would I know anything?" he said meekly.

"You're the golden boy," Keats raised an eyebrow, "didn't you know? No one ever receives an invite into Gene's office to get _the talk_."

Simon faltered.

"H-how did you even know about that?" he whispered.

"Walls have ears," smiled Keats, "well, _Gene's_ do. Thanks to Kimberley."

Kim felt her stomach drop with horror at his words. She became aware of three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

"There's a bug in the umbrella stand," she whispered.

"And a camera in CID," said Keats, "don't forget that one."

"Kim!" Susannah hissed in shock, "how could you do that? To us? To the team? To your DCI?"

"It's not her fault," Simon stepped in, "Keats can be… very persuasive." He turned to Keats. "So what did you have over her? What were you going to reveal to Gene if she didn't help you? Or was it just about getting home, making promises you couldn't keep?"

Keats ignored his questions. He didn't feel he should waste time answering them when there were far more important things at stake.

"So, what's it to be?" Keats asked, "are you going to tell them or am I?"

Simon shook his head slowly and closed his eyes.

"You can't do this to them," he whispered.

"Do what?" cried Susannah, "one of you, just please…._ Please _tell us."

Keats smiled gleefully.

"Go on, Simon. Make Gene proud of you. Pass on the knowledge."

"_What_ knowledge?" cried Susannah.

Malcolm pleaded with Simon through his anxious stare.

"Please, Sir, don't make us beg any more. We're going crazy… you have to help us…. You _have_ to."

Desperately Simon's eyes darted around the four faces; from Kim's expectant expression to Keats' gloating grin and finally to the terrified, desperate faces of Susannah and Malcolm. He was well and truly out of his depth; drowning in a sea of truths that were not his to pass on.

"_I…" _his voice was almost inaudible, "I don't know what to tell you," he whispered.

Keats began to march back and forth along his step.

"_Twinkle twinkle little star,"_ he sang, "_How I wonder what you are…?"_

"Come on, Simon!" cried Susannah, "just tell us. Whatever the truth is, it can't be any worse than not knowing.

"We're going out of our heads here," Malcolm urged, "just… just say it. Whatever it is."

Keats raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, _come on, _Simon," he smiled, "tell them. What are you waiting for? Tick tock."

Simon shook his head and struggled for words.

"_Please don't do this," _he whispered.

"Tell them," Keats hissed. He reached inside his coat and pulled a gun from within its shadows. "Tell them or I'll be giving them a demonstration."

As he aimed the gun at Simon's forehead, Simon knew Keats had removed any semblance of choice he had left. He closed his eyes and wished for something to happen_, anything _to take away the dread of that moment, but his prayers went unanswered.

He looked at the faces of Susannah and Malcolm, so pale, so full of fear. Now he had to take their very existence and snap it in two.

"_I'm so sorry," _he whispered.

"What for?" Susannah whispered back, "you're scaring us, Simon. Just… just say it…"

Simon closed his eyes. As the moment came closer, he changed his mind about something. Forget Keats arriving in 2010 - _this_ was now the very darkest moment of his life.

~xXx~

Gene and Alex drove along in near silence. After receiving Simon's message they'd immediately piled into the Fiat and started their journey to Fenchurch West but neither could bring themselves to voice the fear hanging thickly in the air. Both staring ahead, too afraid to speak, Alex and Gene could feel the dread and anticipation building. The crescendo. The climax.

"It's all happening again," Alex whispered eventually. She turned to Gene, "isn't it?"

Gene swallowed and nodded slowly. He could feel it in the air.

"Game over, Bolly," he whispered, "no extra lives, no continues."

Those were the last words that were spoken as they pulled up into the station car park. Nothing else needed to be said. The truth went unspoken, but here they were, in a carbon copy of 1983.

It was time to say goodbye.

_**~~xxXxx~~**_

_**Thank you so much to everyone for your lovely reviews and for all the favourites and alerts - you rock my world!**_

_**Thank you for sticking with this story. I know the last couple of chapters has primarily focused on the O/Cs but as you can see that was kind of how it had to happen to progress the story. Nearing the climax now!**_


	40. Chapter 39: Life Comes Crashing Down

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

Staring down the barrel of Keats's gun wasn't an unfamiliar position for Simon to be in but never before had he faced losing so much. He knew if Keats shot him right there and then it would be all to too easy to steal his soul; correcting his 'mistake' of letting him get away once before. It was that _mistake_ that fuelled his anger and revenge on Simon in 2010. Let Keats take him now and he'd never make it home to Robin - he'd be spending eternity roasting on Keats' barbecue.

"Now, think very carefully," Keats leered at him, "either you can tell them now, or there will be a bullet in your head within the next three minutes." He indicated the floor with his gun. "I think you should get down on your knees, Simon." He watched Simon frown and hesitate. "Down on your knees, _now!"_

There was something in Keats's eyes that Simon didn't like, that terrified him and made him very aware of exactly how serious the situation was. He began to shake a little as he sank to the ground.

"Put your hands behind your head," Keats instructed, "I don't want you trying anything."

As he did as he was told, Simon felt the same terrifying loss of control that Keats had subjected him to back home.

"_OK, OK," _he whispered quickly.

Keats glowered as he saw Simon reduced to a fragment of himself. The hold he had over him was simple; it was the fact that Simon knew absolutely that Keats was prepared to go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

"Now," he began quietly, "why don't you tell them? Go on - they're waiting for you."

Before he could stop them, tears appeared in the corner of Simon's eyes. His face grew ashen and fearful and his mouth was dry.

"Please don't make me do this," he gasped, shaking his head slightly.

"Does it look like I'm asking you a multiple choice question?" Keats asked. He became aware of footsteps approaching and glanced around to see Gene and Alex begin their descent into the basement. He greeted them with a smile. "Look who's joined us!" he said, "You're just in time."

Freezing on the staircase, the sight that met them sent chills through their bones. Although they didn't know what to expect when they arrived they had certainly not figured on anything so dangerous or merciless.

"Jimbo," Gene said grimly.

"He's got a gun, Gene," Alex hissed.

"Very observant, DCI Drake," said Keats, "just an insurance policy. Simon needed some encouragement to spill the beans." He looked at them seriously. "bear in mind that I _will _use it I either of you even sends one flake of dandruff any closer. Move and Simon gets more holes that your canteen lady's colander. Hands behind your heads, please." They glanced at one another and made the mistake of hesitating for long enough tile his anger. "Hands behind heads!" he screamed, drops of spittle flying from his rabid mouth in all directions as he did so.

"OK," Alex said quietly, trying to calm him as much as possible, "we can do that. Can't we, Gene?"

Gene would rather extract his own eyeballs than follow a demand by Jim Keats but he saw a look of panic in Alex's eyes and knew that and misplaced attempt at bravery would likely end with the spilling of blood. Reluctantly he followed her lead and they both placed their hands around the backs of their heads.

"Excellent co-operation," Keats said with a malevolent smile, "I can see this station merger is going to work out well!" his attention turned back to the man at the end of his gun. "Now, Simon, the _denouement_. Put these poor people out of their misery."

The fear had gripped every inch of Simon's body. He trembled, his eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth hanging slightly open. There had to be an answer, a way out of this.

"_Tell them!"_

Simon looked up.

"Gene?" he whispered.

Gene stared back at the man who was begging him for help. It seemed as though an eternity passed, then eventually he gave a motion Simon wasn't expecting. His eyes dark and his head bowed slightly in defeat he gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptibly. Simon couldn't understand it at first but came to understand that Gene had realised something - the secret was too far out to send the situation into reverse. Now the only option was to see it through to the end. He closed his eyes slowly, the anguish of the responsibility coming to rest on his shoulders. This wasn't right. This wasn't his job.

"I can't do it," he breathed.

"_I _will," Gene said quietly.

"Uh - did I say you could talk?" Keats tightened his finger around the trigger. "No?" He sneered at the silenced Guv. "He fancies himself as a bit of a mini-Hunt - let him see what comes with it."

"I never -" Simon began but a plea cut him off.

"Just _tell_ us," begged Susannah, "if you care about us at all - tell us." He turned his gaze and took a look at her features, her face destroyed with the pain and terror of knowing that something so great was hanging in the air but being unable to reach out and touch the secret that was causing so many people so much anguish. "Sir, if it affects our lives then we have a right to know."

Her words sent Simon over the edge. Unstoppable tears began to fall from his eyes and roll down his trembling face. With his hands behind his head he was unable to wipe them away so they trickled all the way down until they dripped from his chin onto the cold, stone floor. Once arid and dry his mouth now salivated with sorrow and his lips hung slightly apart, moving as though speaking but no sound emerged. Finally his vocal chords kicked into action and the words choked and spluttered from his tormented face.

"_That's the thing," _he whispered, gasping between every other word as the tears stifled his breath, "it's not about your life… It's about your _death."_

Through his tears Simon could see Gene and Alex both close their eyes and bow their heads just for a moment. The speaking of those words was like releasing the seal on a vacuum. There was no going back now - the truth began to flow forth freely.

"Our _death?" _Susannah repeated.

Simon's face echoed her fear as he nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "I'm _so sorry."_

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked, near-paralysed with fear.

Simon swallowed.

"You… came here," his voice trembled, "because you died… too soon."

Incredulous faces stared, waiting for him to go on.

"Died?" Malcolm repeated, "that… that's ridiculous, that doesn't make any sense."

"Oh, it _does," _Keats hissed, "if you stop and think about it. Think of all the things you've seen, all the flashes of stars, people who just disappeared. People with no past and no family. All the loonies that talk to things that aren't there!" he turned to Kim. "Sound familiar?"

Kim glowered at Keats, fiery anger boiling up inside of her.

"_I'm _not dead," she cried, "I can hear them… they talk to me on the radio or on the TV…"

"No," Simon shook his head, _"you're _not dead. You still have a chance to get home, Kim. You've still got that connection. Keep fighting for all you're worth because you can make it."

"_I'm not dead," _Malcolm shook his head slowly. It was the strangest sentence he'd ever spoken but then again this was the strangest of all days. "Look at me… I'm standing right here, I've got an itch on my leg, I can smell something musty… I've got all my senses. I've _got _to be alive."

"This is a place where you can have a _second_ life," Simon whispered, as though that was any consolation, "do the things you never had the chance to before. Malcolm, you were _so _young, so _very _young," his heart broke to think of it, "you'd only just joined the force and you lost your life as a hero. You never had the chance to find love or seek promotion. You never had the chance to live your _life…" _he looked down. "So you came to live that life here."

Malcolm felt a darkness sweep into his mind and heart; a thick black heaviness that sank over him like the release of a thousand terrible secrets.

"_The dog," _he whispered.

Just to hear those words broke Simon's heart all over again. Unable to talk for a moment, his eyes narrowed with tears and he nodded slowly. By now his nose was red and dripping while his brow perspired with the strain of imparting the news.

"I went to your memorial," he whispered eventually, a sob behind every breath he took "you saved a child from a crazed dog."

"But couldn't save myself," Malcolm whispered, his voice wavering.

Simon nodded again.

"_So you came here," _he whispered.

Susannah stared at Gene.

"Guv?" her voice trembled "it's not true, is it? Please say it isn't?"

One look at Gene confirmed all her worst fears.

"It's true," he said quietly.

"_Ma'am?" _Susannah's eyes begged Alex to tell her something different.

"Susannah, it's OK," Alex began quietly, but her expression echoed that of Simon and Gene.

"_No," _Susannah whispered tearfully, her voice growing higher by the moment, "no, no… it's not _true…"_

"This is a halfway house, Kite," Gene told her quietly, "you come here to play out yer life as you need to and then you can move on with no regrets."

"But they're _not_ moving on though, are they?" Keats spoke up, "why _is_ that, Hunt? What's so special about these two? It's not like the last time you ended up carrying a couple of morons for years because back then you didn't remember. But _this_ time I know you do." He nodded to Alex, "_she's_ here to help you remember. You've sent _others _onward. So why not these two?"

Gene swallowed. There were some things he wasn't ready to say, especially not in front of Keats.

"All this time," Malcolm whispered, "I've spent a decade working with you and that whole time you were lying to me, every single _day."_

"Nobody lied to you," Alex said gently, "there were just things we couldn't tell you until the time was right. Until you were ready."

"None of this is real?" Susannah asked quietly as her lip trembled and her hands quickly followed suit.

"_It's real," _Simon was quick to say, another layer of tears beginning to well in his stinging, bloodshot eyes, "I know how real it is. I've been back and forth, there's no difference…. There's pleasure and pain, you can love and you can hate, you can laugh and cry."

"But it's not _real_," Susannah cried, "none of this exists. My career, my relationship, my home… I don't really have _any_ of them! I don't have anything at all!"

Malcolm reached out and held her hand tightly.

"_Some _of it is real," he whispered.

Simon's knees were hurting from the hard, cold stone floor and his arms ached from their awkward position but the turmoil inside his mind far outweighed any physical discomfort. Keats still had a gun pointing squarely in his direction and he'd just destroyed the lives of two people who he'd come to think of as friends.

"_I'm so sorry," _he whispered again.

Susannah looked down, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"I don't want to feel like this any more," she whispered.

"_You see?" _cried Keats, "this is why I needed to get you away from _DCI Hunt._ he'll spend forever lying to you and stringing you along. Now you can see him for what he is. A bloody sham." He turned to Susannah and Malcolm. "But all's not lost. You have a chance for a new life now. Come and work with me."

"You've got to be kidding," Susannah began but Keats interrupted her.

"Why do you think I went to so much effort to get you here?" he asked, "I wanted to get you away from that crumbling place and into somewhere that can really appreciate your skills. I've _heard_ him, Susannah. I've heard him putting you down all the time. Look at what you achieved yesterday. All those people you saved! Does Hunt appreciate your first aid skills?"

Susannah's eyes darted to Gene who looked a little guilty and regretful.

"No," she whispered.

"That's not true, Susannah," Alex began but Keats cut her off.

"Malcolm, all Hunt ever does is take the piss out of your dress sense. He's totally ignored your potential. It took him almost ten years to promote you into CID. How long d'you think it will be before you progress any further? Another decade? _Two? _You want to become a DS before you're a hundred years old? You'll never climb the ladder with Hunt at the helm. And Kimberley - you actually believe this stupid talk about fighting and getting home? Let's put the past behind us and start again. You're just the person I need to help bring this department into the nineties. That's why I was drawn to you in the first place. There's a DI post with your name written all over it"

"_Don't listen to him," _Simon cried, "all he wants to do is to steal your souls."

"_Souls?" _Susannah cried, "this is getting more ridiculous by the moment."

"It's true, Kite," Gene spoke up "I had some good men almost fall for that before. But they came through. They saw this twat for what he is. _Look_ at him!" he pointed roughly at Keats, "do any of you want to work for a man that gets someone on 'is knees, hands behind his head?"

There was a momentary pause then three heads moved simultaneously from side to side.

"No," whispered Susannah.

"_No," _Gene repeated, "didn't think you would."

"Alex and Gene," Simon said quietly, "they've looked after you. They've nurtured you. They've made you stronger. They've done everything they can to help you make up for the lives you missed out on before you came here. Don't throw it back in their faces."

"Oh listen to mister bleeding heart" Keats spat at him, "do I have to remind you there's a gun pointed at your head?"

"If _they're_ dead," Kim whispered, "then what am _I _doing here?"

"Hitchhikin'" said Gene.

"You had some things to work through," Alex said quietly, "so while your body is trying to heal you came here to lay the skeletons in your closet to rest."

It was Kim's turn to grow misty-eyed.

"_About my sister?" _she whispered.

Alex nodded.

"Yes."

Kim choked back an unexpected sob.

"How do I know that I'm ever going to get home?" she whispered.

"You just have to keep fighting," Alex urged.

"You're never going home," said Keats.

"_I _did," said Simon, "I got home when I was here before. And so has Robin."

Malcolm looked at him.

"Robin?" he repeated, "…where _is_ Robin?"

"He 's _home," _Simon whispered, a tiny flicker of a smile spreading across his face, "he made it back."

"How… how do you know?" Kim whispered.

"Last night," said Simon, "he vanished - just like that. His body healed, his soul solved what he was here to do and he went home."

"_Just like that?"_

Simon nodded.

"He was strong enough to get there, and you can do it too. Just keep fighting. Keep fighting to get home, just like I am."

"You're trying to get home too," Kim whispered.

Simon nodded determinedly.

"And I'll make it. I know I'll get back again. It's my turn to go home now.

"_Ha!"_

The lone laugh from Keats caught them by surprise as it rang out through the basement. Simon turned to him, both shocked and annoyed by his sudden outburst, narrowed his eyes and said,

"Something funny, Keats?"

Keats threw back his head, his mouth open wide in an elongated guffaw. There was a sparkle of delight in his eye which shook Simon deep inside. It took a moment before he stopped laughing long enough to address him.

"Just laughing at your joke," he said with a smug smile, _"fighting_… getting _home_… brilliant stuff."

As the line of his gun began to waiver Simon brought his arms down by his sides and stared at him.

"You think I'm joking?" he cried, "I'm going to do every single thing I can to get out of this place and get back to Robin's side."

"_The devoted boyfriend," _Keats sneered.

"Fiancé, actually," Simon snapped, "we just got engaged last night."

_"Oh!"_ Keats' smile grew, "it's all so _tragic!"_

"_What _is?" demanded Simon. He waited for Keats to say something but for once his trap remained shut. _"Well?"_

Keats glanced behind him at Gene and Alex's stricken faces, calling Simon's attention to them for the first time.

"Oh _dear,_" he said in a patronising tone, as though speaking to a small child who has just dropped his ice cream on the floor, "you mean they haven't _told _you? Hunt? Drake? You keeping Simon in the dark?"

"Told me what?" Simon's mouth grew dry again as he studied the expressions of the two DCIs. Both looked pale and crestfallen; Gene's eyes turned downward and his tongue nervously running around the inside of his lip while Alex's eyes began to glisten as though filling with tears. A dark, deep feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of Simon's stomach, sending a chill from head to toe. _"What?" _he whispered.

He stared at them, waiting for an answer, silently begging for someone to tell him what Keats was talking about but no one spoke. No one even moved. Now he understood how Malcolm and Susannah felt when they were pleading with him to tell them the truth because the not knowing was killing him.

_Killing_ him.

_Bang._

That was the moment that the truth hit him with all the force of Nailer's explosion the day before. It struck him in the chest, hit his heart so hard he thought it might stop beating right there and then. It struck him through his body like a lead weight attached to every limb. And it struck him in the head with blast of the greatest of all possible anguish.

"No," he whispered as he began shaking his head, "no…. _no, _Keats, it's _not_ true."

Keats raised his eyebrow.

"_Isn't _it?"

Simon's gaze shifted.

"Gene?" he whispered, "it's not…?"

Gene didn't reply. He bowed his head and shuffled his feet.

"_Alex?" _Simon tried, "_pl… please_ tell me it's not true."

A lone tear spilled from Alex's eye and ran down her cheek leaving a trail of make up alongside it. Her lip began to tremble as her sad gaze bore into him.

"I'm sorry, Simon," she whispered.

Simon's whole body began to tremble. It didn't make sense to him, not for a moment.

"B-but the _messages," _his voice broke with every syllable, "I had _messages…"_

"You heard _Robin's_ messages," Alex said quietly.

"Yeah, Robin's and mine," Simon tried but before he'd even finished speaking Alex was shaking her head.

"Did you ever hear a message about _you, _Simon?" she whispered, "even _once?"_

Silence descended as Simon's mind ran back through everything he'd heard and seen. There'd been news reports about the accident, about Robin's safe return to 2010, he'd heard that they'd been pulled from the wreckage… _hadn't _he?

_One man_, his mind recalled.

'_One man' _had already been pulled out alive and rushed to hospital.

It was always _one man_.

One man, one man.

Never heard what happened to the second man. The second man always got cut off… there was always static… things always stopped working or switched off.

"_No,"_ Simon's eyes began to fill with tears of desperation, wishing and hoping to wake up from this terrible, darkest nightmare of his life.

There _had_ been messages… there _had _to have been.

He remembered the Spanish Archer giving him the El-Bow, Badger using potatoes and a masher to demonstrate Simon's brain, the pointed musical dedications… These weren't messages, they were_ taunts. _

"It's _not_ true," Simon whispered, refusing to let go of hope.

"You need proof?" Keats asked amiably.

Across the dusty basement, a TV set switched itself on. L!ve TV appeared on the screen, mid news report, and the presenter addressed the camera while _News Bunny_ larked around behind her.

"…_and finally, the funeral of detective chief inspector Simon Shoebury was held in East London this morning..."_

With those very words, the final pang of hope dropped inside him like an anvil falling from a great height. Forgetting about Keats and the gun he got to his feet, turned around and slowly walked towards the television set as the news report continued.

"_DCI Shoebury and his colleague and partner Police Sergeant Robin Thomas were involved in a serious road accident one week ago. They were chasing notorious drug baron Nicholas Nailer when it is thought their car hit a fallen tree and flipped over several times."_

In the background, News Bunny cupped his face in mock surprise.

"_Despite all efforts to revive him, ambulance crews failed to resuscitate him and he as pronounced dead at the scene of the accident at eleven forty-eight a.m. A post-mortem revealed massive internal injuries and a previous brain injury that was aggravated by the accident led to his death."_

News Bunny was so distraught at the passing of Simon that he rolled his paws into fists and used them to rub his eyes in a gesture of mock tears.

"_His partner, Sergeant Thomas, has awoken from a week-long coma today. Despite being a stable condition he has not been assessed as strong enough to be given the news about his boyfriend's death or to attend the funeral."_

Simon's slow walk to the TV set came to a halt as he reached the screen and gently knelt down until his face was directly in front of it. The images flashed before him; they seemed unreal but their message was coming through to him louder and more certain with every moment that passed.

"_A memorial service for DCI Shoebury will be held by his colleagues next week. Anyone wishing to pay their respects is welcome to attend. Simon was best know for;-" Cccccccckkkkkkkssssshhhhhhhhh!_

Static arrived and broke up the sound and the picture but Simon had already seen all he needed to see. He straightened up and took a step back as the TV screen switched itself off. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. His tongue ran around his lips and he became increasingly aware of how much he was shaking. His face a deathly shade of white, he turned back to his friends and foe who were looking on with disbelief and desolation.

"_You knew about this?" _he whispered.

Gene cautiously walked down a couple of steps, Keats or no Keats. His face contorted into a strange mix that flickered between sadness and stoicism.

"It was best you didn't know, Simon," he said quietly, for the first time ever using Simon's first name.

"_How _is that best?" cried Simon, "I spent the last three days doing everything in my power to help Robin get home… to help us _both_ get home…"

"And you _did_," Alex said quietly, "you got Robin back home."

"But if I'd _known," _his voice broke as the tears began to come forth, "I could have done things differently… I could have changed things, persuaded him to stay."

Alex chewed on her lip, trying not to let her own tears fall.

"Yes," she whispered, "maybe you _could_ have done that. But it wouldn't have been right. That's not your call. It wasn't his time."

"Beautiful irony, isn't it?" Keats piped up, "there you were, giving your little dead friends that lovely speech about how real everything is here and all along you were just the same as them."

Simon turned to Keats, fires of fury in his eyes.

"Fuck off, Keats," he spat, "just do us all a favour and go play at the bottom of the Thames."

Keats shook his head.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that if I were you," he began, "you need me more now than ever."

"Oh yeah?" Simon's devastation began to evolve into anger, "and why's that? What could I ever, _possibly_ need from the likes of _you?"_

"Robin," said Keats.

Simon froze on the spot. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that.

"What?"

"There's only one way you're going to get to see him again," Keats began, "and that's if you realise that I'm the only one who's actually on your side here."

"On my _side?" _cried Simon, "how did you figure that one out?"

"How much did you trust _those_ two?" Keats gestured to Alex and Gene, "and look what they did to you - Let you believe you could go home with Robin so that you would help him work out how to go back. Now you're left with no one." He smiled. "It doesn't have to be that way. Don't you think we'd make a good team?"

Simon couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at Keats, trying to work out what tiny part of him thought they would make 'a good team'. Something about Keats puzzled him; how he could swing from man to monster and back in such a short timeframe.

"The things you've done," he hissed, "to me, to people I care about - what kind of _team_ do you think I want to be on?"

"The winning one," smiled Keats.

Fury built up inside Simon. Keats and his gun didn't scare him now.

"You'll say anything to try to take me, won't you?" he spat, "just because I was the one that got away?" he began to pace back towards Keats who aimed his weapon back at his head. "Oh for God's sake, Keats, what do you think you're going to do with that? I'm already _dead_ - I've got nothing to lose."

For a split second there was a look of panic on Keats's face as Simon drew closer but very quickly a look of satisfaction took its place.

"_You _haven't…" he said. With pause he turned and aimed his weapon at Alex instead, "But _she_ has." he gloated. "If I pull this trigger now, back in her hospital bed she flatlines. Gone. Dead!"

Simon froze in his tracks. Now he didn't know what to do. He looked at Alex's terrified expression and the anxiety on Gene's face as he tried desperately to work out how to save her from any madness Keats was about to indulge in.

"_So," _Gene began, a tiny tremble in his speech, "how do we resolve this scene, Jimbo?" He paused waiting for a reaction. When Keats didn't speak, he carried on. "We can't all stand in your basement forever with a gun changing targets every few minutes, can we?" Still he hadn't provoked a response. "So, what d'you want? _Really_want?"

"What do I _want?" _Keats repeated.

"Yer rules seem to keep changing," Gene pointed out, "first you want Kite and Malcolm here to come and join you, then you want to give Metal Mickey a promotion, then you promise Shoebury impossible conditions of he comes and works with your _team_ - and yet Alex is the one with a gun pointing at her head. What sense do we make of that, Jimbo?"

Keats gave Gene a withering look.

"Are you that stupid?" he began.

"I don't know," said Gene, "have I paid me dues to the Jim Keats Fan Club for this month?" he paused and looked around. "No? Well I _can't_ be that stupid then, can I?"

"I've already _got _what I _wanted_," said Keats, "now this collection of walking corpses are the added extras," he glanced at the others, "no offence."

"What _did_ you want?" Gene asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"My own domain," Keats smiled.

"Your what?"

"All I ever hear from you is _my world this_ and _my domain that_," Keats began, "you ruled over Fenchurch East like some sort of half-pickled God. Well guess what, _Gene,_" he spat his name angrily and moved a little closer, "now I've got own kingdom to rule over. I've got my _own_ team. That's the only advantage you had over me, Hunt. The benefit of others. Now we're equal."

"I wouldn't say that," Gene leaned a little closer, "I'm sure there are… _some_ departments you can't measure up on." He adjusted his stance to leave Keats in no question in which department he meant.

Keats glowered at him.

"_Oh yeah?" _he adjusted his own pose to match Gene's stance, "why don't you ask your missus about that? Eh?"

Alex's expression grew shocked and angry in the blink of an eye.

"_What-?" _she began but froze as Keats turned his attention to her.

"Don't you remember, Alex? Back when we were working together?"

"We've never worked together," Alex whispered.

"Just been promoted to DCI," Keats continued, "got transferred to my new department. There we were, alone in our new little office. You couldn't keep your hands off me."

Alex's face contorted into a mix of emotions. She remembered that day. She recalled her terror as she found herself alone in a room with the devil personified. She remembered him closing in on her and her knee meeting with his swollen groin to show him exactly what she thought of his advances. A shudder went down her spine at the memory, which grew darker as she recalled what came after; the dizziness, the strange intoxication, the pull she felt to him, seemingly unable to fight as he leaned towards her and made her want his kiss.

"You drugged me," whispered Alex.

"You believe what you want to, sweetheart."

"You filled the room with nitrous oxide and you _drugged_ me," Alex's voice grew louder.

"Oh, he DID, _did he?" _Simon's anger overflowed and he couldn't stop himself, "this seems to be a habit with you, Keats, _doesn't_ it?" He took a pace towards him, his height giving him a more menacing look than Keats had ever noticed before.

Alex glanced at Simon.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

"You're not the only one this lunatic has drugged," Simon said quietly, his throat wobbling a little as he tried to keep his nerve. For such a long time he'd been trying to bury that night. Now he couldn't keep that anger at bay any longer.

"Oh Simon," Alex's face reflected shock and fear, "he didn't…. did he?"

"Not quite," Simon spat, "but he made me _think _he had. Set up everything, just right. Condom wrapper on the bedside table, stripped me naked…"

"That the only way you can get a fumble with someone is it?" Gene began, "slip 'em something and set Little Jimbo on the loose?"

Kim's face grew sullen and distressed.

"That… _wine…" _she whispered, "what… was in that _wine…?"_

Keats looked at her, a flicker of anxiety creeping onto his face.

"_N-nothing," _he lied, forgetting for a moment that he was the one with the gun, "don't believe everything they say about me. _She's_ trying to cover up for cheating on the head honcho and _he's_ just pissed off because my bread's not buttered that side!"

There was a crackle of static and a flash of light that stopped the shouting and pulled everyone's attention to the television set. Once again it sparked into life, a fuzzy image of a news report trying to burst through the static.

"…_Simon was best known for saving fellow officer DCI Alex Drake from an attempt to end her life…"_

_Ccccsssssssshhhhhhhkkkkkkk!_

"…_was carried out by DCI James Keats, known as Jim. He has a record of psychotic acts and…."_

_Ccccsssssshhhhkkkkkk!_

The picture cut in and out, the channels flicking from one to another as fragments of the story came bursting through.

"…_Spent several years in a coma…"_

_FFFFZZZZT!_

"…_had extreme emotional issues brought on by his…."_

_FFFFZZZTTT!_

"No," Keats forgot about his gun for a moment. He forgot about Alex, about Gene, about Simon and all the others. The words coming through the screen in fits and starts disturbed him. He couldn't place why. He couldn't explain it. Something inside of him was stirring.

"… _Keats died as Shoebury acted to save her from being suffocated in her hospital bed…"_

Keats reached the monitor and tried to switch it off but to no avail.

"Come _on," _he hissed hitting it, flipping switches, trying desperately to change the channel, but the story carried on bursting through.

_FFFFZZZTTT!_

"…funeral was held four days later. There were no mourners…"

_FFFFZZZTTT!_

"…_was hailed a hero. An investigation is still underway into how someone like Keats was put in charge of…"_

"No… _NO!" _Keats cried, thumping the screen again.

"I'm not fond of bad news either."

Keats glanced around to find Gene directly behind him. He gave an audible gulp as the TV set crackled away, then braced himself as a fist flew towards his guts.

At the same moment, an alarm started to go off elsewhere within the building.

"_Bolly, get them all out!"_ cried Gene as he threw a second punch at Keats.

Keats fought back with a knee and a fist while Alex quickly hustled the shaken team from the basement, pushing them up the stairs and moving them out as fast as she possibly could.

She glanced around in time to see Gene throwing Keats to the floor and fishing out a set of handcuffs, fastening one to his own wrist and the other to Keats before declaring,

"DCI Jim Keats, you are hereby under arrest."

"For what?" Keats spat.

"How long have you got?" snapped Gene, "let's try kidnap, drugging, hostage taking, ABH, GBH and talking complete and utter _bollocks_ without consent for a start." He hauled him to his feet. _"Move, _pal."

As the alarms continued to ring and Gene pulled his prize toward the staircase he knew that this was only the start. The words that had been spoken and the discoveries that had been made in that room were only the tip of the iceberg.

Yet still nothing prepared Gene for the events that were about to unfold.

_**~~xxXxx~~**_

_**I just wanted to say that I ended up in a flood of tears halfway through trying to write that chapter which totally took me unawares. I was so overwrought by the end of it I had to leave it until this morning to check through and edit!**_


	41. Chapter 40: A Little Respect

**Chapter Forty**

The highly disturbed, demoralised and traumatised team gathered in the entrance foyer of the station where people were rushing back and forth but no one seemed to be leaving the building. Alex caught up with them as the alarm continued to ring. She sought out a wandering female officer in uniform and tried to make herself heard over the din.

"What's going on?" she asked.

The officer frowned.

"I'm sorry, you are…?"

"Oh," Alex pulled out her ID, "DCI Drake, Fenchurch East."

"Oh, you must be one of our new lodgers after the explosion at your station," the officer guessed.

Alex didn't argue.

"What's the alarm for?"

"A suspect's broken out," the officer said, "we're on lockdown."

"_What?" _frowned Alex. She realised now why there was so much chaos. As her eyes scanned the space around her between the commotion she found some very broken souls. Her heart sank all over again as she spotted Simon. Now out of the line of danger and with time to start processing the news he was so pale that he practically blended with the stark white walls. His feet angrily kicked at a banister and his eyes were red raw from his tears.

"_He didn't deserve to find out now," _Alex whispered to herself, "_not like that."_

Had she and Gene been the ones in the wrong? Should they have told him? How _could_ they have done? She began for the first time to doubt the work that she and Gene were doing. Were they right to play with the perception of reality that those in their care had? She started to realise that Gene may have been better of forgetting because consciously keeping the truth never did get any easier.

From somewhere in the madness she saw Gene angrily dragging a slightly delirious and very irate Keats along.

"Hold yerself still," Gene admonished, "yer gonna 'ave me wrist off in a minute."

"Oh what a shame," Keats spat as Gene dragged him along, "won't have anything to jerk yourself off with at night when Alex come to her senses."

Gene gave Keats one last angry yank and pulled him into the middle of the crowd; the Fenchurch East team gathering loosely around, no one sure of what to say.

"Right, that's it," Gene cried, "I'm not having this jar of wank cuffed to me arm any longer." He looked for Simon. "Shoebury - sit on 'im!"

Simon turned to him, aghast. As though he wasn't trying to deal with enough, now he was supposed to re-introduce Keats to his allegedly 'hairy' posterior?

"_I'm _not bloody sitting on him!" he cried in horror.

"Well _someone's _going to have to sit on him," said Gene, without sarcasm.

"Since when did sitting on people before a recognised police procedure?" cried Alex.

"Seems to have been working fine for Shoebury all week," said Gene.

"Doesn't mean it's appropriate for all suspects!" Simon cried in horror.

"Alright," Gene looked at the others, "who's going to sit on him then?"

"Well don't look at me," cried Susannah.

"I'll get stains on my velvet trousers!" cried Malcolm.

"I hear Kim's already been there, done that though," Susannah commented a little bitchily.

"Hey," Kim cried, "that was a cheap shot."

"Oh for goodness sake," Alex threw up her good arm in horror with her other arm joining it half-way, "_no one _is going to sit on him."

"We can't exactly throw 'im in the cells," Gene huffed, "he's their head of CID!"

"And _our _station's closed," said Susannah.

"Cuff him to the banister then," said Alex.

Gene looked around and found a suitable staircase to attach the unwelcome Jimbo to.

"Good plan Drakey," he said, pulling him roughly to the banister.

As Gene unlocked himself from the crazed Keats he scanned the remains of his team. Susannah and Malcolm stood with hollow eyes and glazed expressions. Malcolm had one hand resting on Susannah's arm but she seemed cold and withdrawn. Kim was sitting on the edge of a plant pot, hunched over and cradling her stomach where the impact of Keats's foot had left her with steadily increasing pain, Alex was holding her head and trying to keep herself composed while Simon was now aiming his anger at a chair with another anguished kick.

Keats gave Gene a strange smile. It was the smile of someone pushed over the edge of sanity by the climax he'd poured every ounce of energy into building for so long. He barely seemed fazed by Gene's present attaching of his hand to the banister.

"_You know a snake can always slither free," _he said.

Gene scowled.

"You a snake, eh? I'll put you in a tank with a bunch of mice," he threatened and turned his back on the man.

Keats spotted Simon working his way around most of the kickable objects in the room and laughed.

"You're working your way through the stages of grief pretty quickly, Simon," he cried, "You've already done denial and moved right on to anger. Tell you what, when you're ready to start the bargaining stage give me a call. I'm sure we can work up a deal!"

"You _what?"_ Simon cried, making a lunge to move his kicking spree from furniture to flesh but Gene stepped in between them and held Simon back with a strong grasp.

"_Woah, _stop right there, he's not worth getting yourself an assault charge over, especially in a rival station."

"Oh yeah?" cried Simon, "and what have I got to lose? My faux freedom?"

"I know you're angry," Gene looked him squarely in the eye, "and maybe you've got good reason to be…"

"_Maybe?"_

"_Aright, _you've _got_ good reason to feel that way," Gene continued, "but get angry with _me. _He's not worth your energy, Simon."

Simon stated back at Gene. Forever passed before anyone spoke again. Finally Simon took a deep breath.

"That's DCI Shoebury," he said coldly and turned away before Gene could see his lip begin to tremble as his eyes filled with bitter tears all over again.

Gene felt bile and anger building up inside him. It was history repeating itself. How could he have found himself in this position again after so long? He had never forgotten, Alex had helped him to help many others to conquer their demons and move on, and yet suddenly it had all fallen apart again.

He remembered others who had realised the nature of their existence quite spontaneously; the dawning of their truth coming naturally and peacefully. He contemplated all those who had passed through the doors of the Railway Arms, those who had gone home and the unlucky few he or Alex had cradled as they took their final breaths. What had gone so horribly wrong this time?

He knew Simon was in a unique position. In all the decades Gene had been overseeing the souls of his fellow officers he'd never seen someone arrive with their plus one. But had he really judged it so far off the mark this time?

He walked slowly toward Alex who looked as lost and empty as he felt.

"God, Bolly, why did the walls come crumbling down now?" he sighed.

Alex stared at Simon and tears began to well again.

"Every time I see him, I start crying," she whispered, "when Keats told him… when he made him guess… that was _me, _Gene. Twelve years ago, that was me."

Gene enveloped Alex in a broad, warm embrace that made her feel protected and loved.

"I know," He said quietly.

"And then I found out I wasn't dead," she whispered against his coat, "that Keats was blocking attempts at resuscitating me. But for Simon, there's no second chance. He's dead and buried."

Gene didn't know what to say to bring her any comfort. Perhaps there was nothing he _could_ say. Until some better words came to him he held her close and showed her there was one thing that would never crumble, no matter what the circumstances.

~xXx~

Susannah stared at Simon, her eyes cold and vacant.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she whispered.

Simon looked around.

"What?"

"I can understand Hunt and Drake," Susannah said quietly, "if this is their job, like you say, then in a way I can understand why they kept it a secret… but you're one of _us. _How could you keep it from us?"

"I was trying to get home!" cried Simon, "and I trusted Hunt. He told me that it was to go no further and I respected that." His chest filled with despair, "like a fool, I respected that."

"I thought you were my friend," Malcolm said sadly.

"I _am_ your friend!" cried Simon, "for god's sake, this isn't my world, they weren't my rules, they were not my decisions to make! So leave me out if this!"

He turned around and kicked another chair, then out of the corner of his eye he saw Kim grimacing and bending further forwards. Despite his anger and devastation he could never stop caring about a person in pain so he left his furniture-kicking antics and knelt beside her.

"Kim, are you alright?" he asked.

Kim nodded but her expression told a different story.

"I'm just being soft," she said quietly, "he kicked me in the guts. I thought I was OK until I ran up the stairs, then the pain came back." She grimaced, "badly."

"Do you need an ambulance?" Simon asked worriedly.

"Don't be stupid," Kim shook her head, "I'm fine."

She didn't look fine to Simon but he didn't have enough strength to argue with someone who didn't seem to care about their own wellbeing.

_At least she__'s still got a chance,_ he thought angrily to himself, _at least she can still go home._

In his anger at the world and everything on it he marched to the large glass doors which opened, then found Alex yelling his name. He looked back to see her looking bewildered and with an angry sigh he stepped back away from the doors to see what she wanted.

"What?" he asked.

"Those doors," said Alex.

Simon hesitated.

"Yeah… they're doors," he agreed, thinking she was starting to go a bit funny.

"That officer said the station was on lockdown," said Alex.

Simon shrugged.

"They're open," he said.

"Bloody hell, am I glad to hear that," said Gene, "I left me flask in the Fiat."

He marched toward the doors, stepped right into the glass with a loud _'smack'_, got a door in the face and rebounded hard. Various wandering Fenchurch West officers mixed in with his own team stood and stared at the flattened, perplexed and embarrassed Gene on the floor. It took him several moments to gather his thoughts and work out what had just occurred, then another couple of moments to come up with a suitable excuse.

"Yes, _very good secure doors," _he said loudly, "I will feel very safe having my officers work over here until our station is back in working order. I'm glad I tested the facilities myself." he flickered his gaze to Alex with an urgent _help-me-up-right-now-before-I-melt-into-a-puddle-of-shame _expression on his face.

Alex dutifully came to his assistance with a one-armed pull and helped him back up.

"What just happened, Gene?" she cried.

"I could ask you and Shoe-Boy the same question!" Gene cried crossly, "I thought you said the bloody doors were open!"

Simon stared at him blankly.

"They _were," _he said.

"Me nose begs to disagree!" cried Gene.

"Well they opened when _I_ went near them," said Simon, "they must have put the automatic doors back on by accident and then switched them back off."

"Couldn't they have picked a different moment to do that?" Gene huffed.

"_Excuse me?" _a voice broke through their door-related argument.

Alex glanced behind her to see the female officer she had spoken to earlier approaching them. She reached up to rub her throbbing forehead and began;

"Look, we'll clean the Gene marks off of the doors in a minute, OK?"

"Uh… no…" The officer frowned, "it's about the escaped suspect."

"Have you found them?" asked Alex.

"Not yet, Ma'am," the officer said, "uh, didn't you say you were from Fenchurch East?"

"Yes, that's right," said Alex, "why?"

"It was one of your suspects who escaped," the officer told her, "and worryingly there's no sign of a break out. It looks as though he was _let out_."

"Let out?" Alex repeated.

"What, like a cat needing a piss?" Gene asked.

Alex looked at the officer curiously.

"Who _is_ the missing suspect?" she asked.

"Uh," the officer checked the sheet of paper in her hand, "Nailer… Nick Nailer."

Across the space, mouths gaped, eyes opened wide and people froze in shock.

"_Nailer,"_ Gene hissed.

"But who would -" Alex began, but already knew the answer to her own question.

"_Keats,"_ she and Gene hissed together, turning instinctively to the banister where their foe had been cuffed just minutes earlier. In the space where there had been an angry, jabbering Jim, there was now an empty pair of handcuffs hanging limply from the banister.

"Oh fucking hell," cried Simon.

Gene rushed to the cuffs and examined them. They hadn't been unfastened and they hadn't been broken. It was as though Keats had simply slipped his hand out of them and strolled away.

"_Shit!" _he cried, head-butting the banister rail in fury and ending up flat on his back for the second time in as many minutes.

As Alex tried to help him up for the second time she looked at Simon.

"How can he disappear?" she cried.

"What am I now? The resident Jim Keats Wiki?"

"You seem to know more about him than anyone."

"How do you figure _that?"_

"He hasn't woken up or something, has he? He wasn't still alive?

"Believe me, Alex, he was very, _very _dead," Simon said crossly.

"Then how did he get out of the cuffs?"

"Well _I _don't know!" cried Simon, "why don't you go and check that camera?" he jabbed a finger in the direction of a CCTV camera in the corner of the room.

Alex cradled her head as her migraine started to return.

"That's a very useful suggestion," she said, feeling a little stupid that she hadn't thought about it first.

"Right," Gene began, "we need to work as fast as a dose of Ex-Lax after a Friday night curry, and we need to work as a _team." _He eyed each and every person individually, leaving them in no doubt that he expected the same from everyone. "I don't care what you think of me right now. I don't care if you want to punch my lights out or scream down me ear. I don't care if you've got sixty-five rotten names lined up to call me when all this is over…

"Like _twat_?" Malcolm suggested, genuinely thinking he was looking for suggestions.

"_Thank you for your input," _Gene silenced him with a glare, "as I was saying… There will be a time for all of that and a time for me to answer everything your heads are chewing over right now. _This_ isn't it. Right now our friend mister Nicholas Nailer is on the loose once again. So is slippery Jimbo. Any sliver of chance that the two events are _not_ connected is about the same size as my desire to see that Andrew Ridgeley autograph that Shoebury is always going on about." He paused, surveying the faces around him. "We need to find both of them. We need to find the connection _between_ the two. And we need to find out how the bloody hell a man can slither out my bloody handcuffs!"

Alex tried to stay focused as lights began to dance around in her field of vision and an ache began to grow in her abdomen.

"I know that what has happened today… it stings on a way that no secret has ever hurt before. And believe me, I _do_ understand because I have been there too. But remember who you are. You are here because of what you chose to do with your lives. You wanted to help people. To make things right. You wanted to stop people like Nailer and Keats from destroying the lives of others. That is still your job and we need you right now, more than ever."

"What's the point?" Susannah whispered.

Gene turned to her.

"'Scuse me?"

"I said what's the point?" Susannah repeated, "this isn't the real world. it's a bloody game of Cops 'n' Robbers. So Nailer peddles a shitload of drugs, Keats goes on a pillaging and raping spree - who cares? it's not real. None of this matters."

"It _is _real," Simon said quietly.

Gene looked at him in surprise. After his outburst earlier, Simon was the last person Gene expected to speak up.

"Go on, Shoebury," he prompted.

Simon raised his eyes from the ground for the first time in several moments to look at Gene, then turned to Susannah.

"It's not the life you _used_ to have, but it's real. _You're_ lucky, Susannah. You don't remember your old life. You don't remember the people you loved, the ones you left behind. All you know is here… _here_, a place where you've earned respect, you've progressed from a DC to a DI in the last ten years. A place where you met someone and fell in love. A place where someone proposed to you," those words caught in Simon's throat as he gently touched the ring that Robin's vanishing left behind, "a place where someone made your heart race and made the room spin around you. Can you seriously tell me any of that isn't real?"

Susannah looked at him silently, a lump rising in her throat as she tried not to let the tears start flowing.

"It used to be," she whispered.

"Have you ever been hurt on the job?" Simon asked.

Susannah frowned.

"Once or twice," she said, "been hit… got shot once.."

"How did it feel when you got shot?"

Susannah wasn't sure where this line of questioning was going.

"It bloody hurt," she frowned, "how do you _think_ it felt?"

Simon nodded slowly.

"See, this is the same way Gene explained it to _me," _he continued, "if you felt that pain, then what about all the other people living out there who can feel pain too? What about all the kids who are going to die when Nailer sells a tainted batch of cocaine or some poisonous pillls? What about all the people Keats could aim his gun at with no sense of concern or decency?" he glanced across at Kim who's pain seemed to be worsening. "Look at Kim. _Look at her!" _he pointed a finger in her direction, "You saw who did that to her! And that man is walking the streets right now. If we don't find him then he could come back. He could come after any one of us. He could come after _you. _And if he brings that gun along with him, the one that I spent half an hour staring down the barrel of today who's to say he's not going to use it on you?" he paused, "and if he does," he whispered that will _'bloody hurt' _too."

Susannah stared at him. His words had shocked her, taken her by surprise. They had almost moved her in a way she didn't think anything could possibly do after the truth had been told. She swallowed hard and ran her tongue across her lips. Taking in a deep breath, here eyes turned to Gene.

"So what do you want us to do," she asked, "_Guv?"_

Gene made his expression neutral and strong but inside he felt a little warmth rising up.

"That is a good question, Kite," he began, "You and Malcolm, get this Fenchurch West lot to give you unprecedented access to their CCTV. Track Nailer and Keats as far as you can. Anyone gives you any jip about it, tell them the Gene Genie is going to come round and give them a lesson in multi-station co-operation."

Susannah nodded.

"Yes sir," she said quietly.

"Bolly, you and me need to do a bit of background research on Jim's employment at Fenchurch West," Gene continued, "and Kim -"

No sooner than he'd spoken her name, she tumbled from the plant pot with her hands clutching her belly.

"Oh _god," _Malcolm cried.

"_Kim?" _Simon cursed himself for not being more forceful when he'd urged her to seek medical treatment earlier. He ran to her side and bent down as Susannah raced over to them.

"First aider here!" she cried "don't panic!"

Simon glanced up at Susannah.

"_She's bleeding," _he whispered anxiously.

"Where?" asked Susannah, "I'll get the bandages!"

Simon coughed.

"I, uh… don't think they have a bandage for that," he hissed and indicated where the blood was coming from. Susannah turned a bright shade of pink and cleared her throat as she saw the red liquid pooling between Kim's legs.

"No," she agreed, "you can't put a tourniquet on that."

Alex knelt beside them as Kim's whimpers became more urgent.

"Kim?" she tried, "can you hear me?"

"It's getting worse," Kim whispered.

Alex looked up.

"Someone call an ambulance," she cried, "I'll go with her."

"Bols, I need you," Gene shook his head. His statement hadn't referred simply to helping him find out how Keats had managed to get a top post in CID at Fenchurch West. He needed her by his side, on this of all days. With a nod, Alex showed that she understood the deeper sentiment that went unspoken.

"I'll go with her," Simon said quickly.

"Keep yer radio on, DCI Shoebury," Gene told him, "you never know when we might need to call on you. And don't let them give you any weedy shit about it interfering with machines and stuff, alright?"

Simon nodded.

"Yes, Guv, " he said, pausing for a moment, "and it's _Simon_."

Gene nodded back, his eyes expressing an understanding that they could talk about later. For now there were pressing matters to be dealt with. Despite the anxiety he felt knowing both Keats and Nailer were out there on the loose again and seeing Kim's worrying state, inside there was a flicker of hope

. When all was said and done, his team was still a team. No matter what truths came out, there was something underlying that could never be broken.


	42. Chapter 41: You Have a Hold Over Me

**Chapter Forty One**

"You are gonna _luuuurve_ making use of our IT suite!" the man with a cheesy grin, pointed goatee and pink shirt practically made _Jazz Hands _in his enthusiastic state, "our techie guys have been working round the clock to make sure you folks can access our system with your very own personal _Fenchurch West Secure Logon!" _he paused. "I just need your full name, date of birth, email address, telephone number, fax number, name of your first pet, mother's maiden name, favourite colour and favourite sexual position!" he paused with a grin. _"Just kidding on that last one!"_ He hooted, jabbing his fingers alternately toward them with a grin.

Gene and Alex leaned back in their seats and exchanged a glance.

"Why the bloody hell didn't we give _this_ job to Shoebury?" Gene sighed.

~xXx~

"_Stay calm, sweetheart, you're going to be alright," _one of the paramedics said to Kim as they began to wheel her into the ambulance.

Simon followed alongside them and climbed into the back. He hated all things medical and as far as he was concerned an ambulance was just a hospital on wheels. He shuddered, drawing his jacket around him and pretending his shiver was caused by the cold. He took a seat as the doors of the ambulance closed and Kim screamed in agony.

"How long has she been like this?" a paramedic asked Simon as another started the engine and began to speed away, sirens blazing lith the howl of an injured lion.

"She was kicked hard in the stomach, about half an hour ago," he said, pausing to check that on his watch but the hands still showed 11.48. _"Damn."_

"OK," the paramedic leaned over her, "Kim? _Kimberley?"_

"Am I going to die?" Kim whispered.

"Not if we've got anything to do with it," The paramedic told her, "Now, I'm just going to put this mask over your face."

"What for?" Kim gasped.

"Gas and air, love," the paramedic told her, "it'll help take the edge off the pain. Breathe deeply."

Simon looked on anxiously as Kim's face received a plastic covering and her nose and mouth were obscured from view. As the process rook place, something stirred in Simon's memory but he couldn't quite place what it was. Something seemed familiar to him but he wasn't quite privileged to the information. He shook his head, trying to sake the thoughts away.

"OK, Kim," the paramedic began, "I need to ask you a few questions. Just try to answer the best you can, OK?" Kim nodded. "Alright, are you pregnant?"

Kim shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

"Are you menstruating right now?"

"_Eugh!" _Simon cried involuntarily, backing away slightly.

"No."

"Any history of gynaecological problems?"

"For god's sake, _man_ in the ambulance!" cried Simon, clutching his head.

"No," Kim whispered.

"Alright," the paramedic began putting a line into her hand, "I'm going to take some blood now and we'll be at the hospital in just a couple of minutes."

Kim leaned back and breathed the heady gasses, feeling her mind starting to swim and a little of the pain ebbing away. She closed her eyes, desperately praying that she would make it through the day. As she concentrated on her breath, inhaling the air that brought a spin to her consciousness, she heard something crackling in the background. She tried to glance behind her but couldn't really see anything. The crackle came again and this time she realised it was the radio on the front of the ambulance.

"_Patient stable, on way, ETA three minutes," _she heard the driver say. The radio hissed and cracked a response, but suddenly a louder burst of static came through and reached her ears.

"_We've got massive internal bleeding," _the voice began urgently, _"there must have been more internal damage from the knife's entry site than we saw."_

"_Get her back to theatre now!" _another voice cried.

She heard a fast beeping of machines, then the clatter of hospital doors and suddenly the sound stopped, just like that. Kim's eyes opened wide and she turned her head toward Simon.

"Did you hear that?" she mumble from under the mask.

"Sorry?" Simon leaned forward to hear her better.

"The radio," she gasped.

"They said you'll be there in three minutes," Simon told her.

"N-no, after that," Kim took a deep breath and took off the mask, "they said I had internal bleeding… they said I was going back to theatre."

"Keep your mask on, dear," the paramedic said, slipping it back on her face.

"But they said -" Kim panicked.

"_Shh… _the gas and air must be working," the Paramedic said comfortingly, stroking her hair a little.

Taken by the gentle action and the pretty smile of the paramedic, Kim let the gas and air do its job and send her into a hazy state, but as it took hold something struck her on the back of her mind; it was a feeling of familiarity. She'd felt this before, she was sure of it, but couldn't remember when.

As he watched her laying on the trolley, Simon experienced a feeling of familiarity too. Again he was struck with a feeling of recognition that he couldn't quite place until an image flashed into his mind of Malcolm's memorial service; the one he'd foolishly attended and humiliated himself at. What on earth was bringing that back? He couldn't resolve the memory. He didn't understand it.

Frustrated, he pushed it out of his mind and focused his efforts on making sure Kim was OK. Gene had told him days ago that he thought he could help Kim. Now he might just have a chance.

~xXx~

"_Here's the TV here's the tapes here's the video here's the remote here's the kettle here's the tea bags here's the biscuits and here's the milk," _a Fenchurch West PC said in a very fast, monotone voice.

"And here's where you pause for breath," whispered Malcolm.

"And here's the suicide pills," added Susannah.

They gave each other a sideways glance and spontaneously burst into a smile and a quiet giggle. As their helpful host left the room they found themselves genuinely relaxing just a shade for the first time since the truth spilled forth from Simon's tearful speech.

Malcolm looked into Susannah's eyes, her pupils wide in the dimly lit room. They were every bit as beautiful as they had always been. It was no different now he knew the truth. They sparkled with just as much life as they had from the moment they met.

"I meant what I said," he said quietly.

Susannah frowned.

"What?"

"Some of this is real." He reached for her hand and ran his finger around the setting of her engagement ring. "The way I felt what I first saw you in the office… the way I fell in love with you… the way you make me feel inside every time you touch me," he shivered with joy at the mere thought if it, "that's real."

Susannah looked at him, her expression wavering between joy and sorrow. She reached out and stroked his face with her fingers as she whispered.

"Mal…. _The dog…" _she saw his expression change and his eyes turn downward, "…I'm so sorry."

Malcolm's expression became distant. His mind turned over so many strange moments from the past, instances of things he couldn't quite explain before.

"I think we both knew there was _something_ there, didn't we?" he whispered, "when we were talking the other night, we both knew there was something about ourselves that we just didn't understand." he shook his head slowly. "But never did I think this was the truth."

Susannah nodded slowly. She turned away from Malcolm so that he couldn't see her eyes becoming tearful again.

"I don't know how I died, Malcolm," she whispered.

Malcolm stared at her. He didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't think of any words that could possibly make her feel any better. He could see that on the one hand the not knowing now the truth was out could be frustrating, but on he other hand he could vouch for the fact that knowing wasn't a piece of cake.

"Maybe you could ask the Guv?" he said quietly.

Susannah wasn't sure she was ready for that. She glanced back at him.

"Poor Simon," she said quietly.

"I thought you were down on Simon," said Malcolm.

Susannah still felt a little resentful toward Simon for not sharing the secret he knew but could see another side to the situation too.

"At least we're together on the same side of reality," she whispered, "Simon and Robin are separated by life and death."

Malcolm looked down as her words hit home. He hadn't even thought about that. He started to feel more thankful than ever that they were still together.

"Poor Simon," he echoed her sentiment. He thought about some of the revelations that had emerged, some of the other words that had been spilt. "I guess my nightmare makes more sense now," he whispered.

"Which one?"

"About Simon and Keats," Malcolm said quietly, "I don't know how but I must have been… looking into his home… the night Keats…"

"…drugged him," Susannah concluded, remembering Simon's outburst. _"Shit, _Mal, no wonder Simon hates that man so much."

Malcolm shuddered at the thought of Keats and his actions. There were a lot of things that didn't make sense about his mixed concept of morals and his behaviour.

"I think we should get on with this," he said, picking up one of the CCTV tapes the not-so-helpful Fenchurch West officers had gathered together for them, "the more I think about the things he's done the more I want him off the streets."

Susannah nodded in agreement.

"Let's get started on the -" she began but her sentence was cut off by the door swinging open and the monotonous officer returning with a large box.

"_More tapes more milk more biscuits more tea bags more batteries for the remote and here's the coffee and the sugar I forgot last time."_

Susannah gave Malcolm a tired glance.

"I hate Fenchurch West," she whimpered.

~xXx~

Gene shook his head in defeat. The task was downright impossible. It was overwhelming.

"Gimme the radio," he said to Alex. She handed it to him with a curios frown. He took it quickly and spoke urgently. "Oi, Shoebury?"

There was a moment of quiet; then -

"Go ahead."

"'Ow do you open a file?"

A pause.

"_A what?"_

"A file."

Gene was surprised by how much time passed by before Simon replied;

"A _what?_"

"A bloody computerised wotsit!"

There was another long pause.

"_Gene… I'm in the ambulance with Kim, we're almost at the hospital. She's haemorrhaging blood!"_

"That doesn't help me here," Gene complained, "is it one click, two clicks, left click, right click, both clicks or no clicks?"

"_It…. It's exactly the same as whatever you've got in your office!"_

You're assuming I ever bother to use the one in my office…" Gene mumbled into the radio.

There was a frustrated sigh.

"_Double click, left hand button," _Simon said eventually, _"look, Gene, we're at the hospital, I've got to go."_

"Appreciate the pointer," Gene said, glancing at Alex to see if she got his mouse-related joke but she was too busy massaging her throbbing stomach to notice. "Look… keep us informed. Tell Metal Mickey to keep 'er chin up."

"_Will do," _said Simon before signing off.

Gene put the radio down and looked a little anxiously at Alex. He tried to moisten his dry lips a little with his tongue and began awkwardly,

"I'm not gonna have to call another ambulance for you am I?"

Alex realised what she was doing and stopped abruptly, pulling her knees up a little to ease the pain instead.

"Don't be silly, Gene," she said quietly, "being in the same room as Keats for too long gives me indigestion, that's all."

"That's not indigestion," Gene spoke softly which caused Alex to stop covering and take his concern seriously. It wasn't a tone she was used to hearing from him. Her senses were brought to a higher state of alert as he reached forward an slipped his hand carefully under her silky blouse. She felt a double-edged shiver travel through her body; the chill of excitement that she still experienced every single time she felt Gene's touch on her body battling with the hanging dread that he was about to uncover the secret worry she'd been trying to hold back.

She flinched a little as is fingers made contact with her skin, closing her eyes for the briefest moment, afraid to breathe out and afraid to breathe in. Beneath his fingers, Gene felt the uneven tone of her bullet wound, the one imperfection on her body. Touching it brought back a cold and dark memory to him, and one which he had tried to bury for so many years.

His gaze travelled up to meet hers as she stared back at him, the slightest tremble in her lip as she caught the look in his eyes.

"You never touch me there," she whispered nervously.

"You never _hurt_ there," Gene countered, "in all the years since I," he hesitated, unsure of any way to finish that sentence at didn't make him want to punish himself for putting her life in danger, "since you woke up and left hospital I don't think I've ever seen it give you a moment's pain. Even the day I took you back to CID." His anxiety increased as Alex dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze any longer. "What's this about, Bolly?" he whispered, "why is that scar giving you daily bellyaches? What about yer migraines? Waking up in the middle of the night, sweating and sick from bad dreams you don't want to tell me about? What's happening to my Bollinger Knickers?" he forced her to look at him. "Are you falling apart?"

Alex's eyes began to mist over. Her line of vision became blurred and she couldn't see Gene's features clearly any longer She blinked to clear the fuzzy texture across her eyes and, like a set of windscreen wipers, her eyelids left a tear dripping down each cheek. She took in a deep breath, a little jagged from the sob she was trying to hold back before she slowly opened her mouth and breathed the words she had been trying not to say.

"No," she whispered, "I'm _not." _she swallowed and looked deep into his eyes. "I think I'm being put back together," she whispered.

She saw Gene's adam's apple rise and fall as he choked back his emotions.

"That's what I thought," he whispered.

A long stare between them spoke more than the words neither of them could quite manage to say. Finally Gene reached around her and pulled her face in close against his neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, absorbing the smell of his aftershave, a tang of scotch and the usual scent that just came with being Gene. Feeling his lips gently touch the side of her neck, she knew that life could never get any more real than this. So why then did she feel like it was tumbling from her grasp like grains of sand in the palm of her hand?

~xXx~

Simon felt lost and vulnerable as he ran alongside the trolley where Kim's pale and contorted form lay. He felt threatened and confused by the flashing lights and sirens as the paramedics rushed her through the ambulance bay, through the doors of casualty and to a waiting pool of doctors and nurses.

He hated it. He hated every moment of it. Hospitals were not his favourite places. He'd spent far too long in them, for a start. Between getting a file server square in the head and finding himself on the end of Keats' gun some months earlier he'd had more than his fair share of days in embarrassing backless smocks, being prodded and poked. Even his time in 1983 had started with three broken toes and a night in a ward.

He tried to block out his own bad experiences and focused on Kim. He watched anxiously as she was taken through a corridor and listened to the ambulance crew imparting what they'd found out so far.

"Her blood pressure's dropping and she's severely dehydrated," someone began.

"She spent a day and a half tied up with nothing to eat or drink," Simon volunteered.

A doctor looked at him in horror.

"My _god," _he cried, "have you called the police?"

"We _are_ the Police!" Simon cried.

"Patient received a hard blow in the lower abdomen approximately forty minutes ago," one of the paramedics said, "a kick from an adult male. Intense pain from contact, easing for a short time and then increasing steadily before the bleeding started."

"OK, let's take a look and see what's going on here," said a doctor, whisking her into a cubicle and pulling the curtain right in front of Simon's nose.

"_Hey!" _he frowned crossly. He parted the curtain and peered inside, where a nurse was staring at him crossly.

"You can't come in here while we're examining the patient, sir," she said.

"B-but she's _terrified!" _cried Simon, "she can't go though this on her own."

"Are you her boyfriend?"

"No, I'm a colleague - _friend,"_ he said, waving his hand as though to give a visual representation of his change of label.

"Right, well unless you are next of kin then I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside," the nurse told him, pushing him by the nose out of the cubicle and shutting the curtain again.

Simon scowled and rubbed his nose.

"How rude," he frowned.

Glancing at the clock, he noticed the time was 11:48. _Shit. _ No it _wasn't. _But to him, that's all it would ever be.

He leaned back against a post beside Kim's cubicle, worrying about her condition, frustrated at the nurse and her attitude, wishing that she had someone by her side while se was going through this. He took a deep breath and decided it was time for a new Simon to emerge, What was the point of being dead if he couldn't take the odd risk?

He pulled back the curtain and stepped into her cubicle as the doctors were covering her with a sheet; a pile of blood-drenched clothes beside the trolley.

"_You _again!" the snooty nurse cried, "I thought I told you to get out! Next of kin only!"

"Yes, that was when I was her friend and colleague," he began, "I'm actually also her brother. I'm her next of kin. _Now_ can I stay?"

The nurse scowled.

"This is most unusual!" she cried, but a terrified Kim cried out;

"_Let him stay!"_

Simon gave the nurse a half-sneer, half-smirk which made him look rather like he was doing an impression of Rimmer from Red Dwarf. It earned him an extra scowl but she stopped trying to usher him out the cubicle so he decided it must have worked on some level. He pocketed the expression in his memory to use again in the future as the nurse snapped,

"Just stay out of the way, we need to work fast."

"_Fine," _Simon held up his hands and backed away.

Now his battle to stay was over he found himself confronted with a lot of blood. That didn't sit so well with him. Now he remembered another thing he hated about hospitals. He tried not to look at the red stuff and instead concentrated on Kim's agonised expression as the doctors examined her and pumped her full of painkillers and fluids.

"Can I see the notes the paramedics handed over again, please?" one of the doctors asked. Someone handed him a sheet of paper and he scanned it quickly. He looked at Kim over his spectacles and began, "Young lady, you were asked if you were pregnant and you said no."

Kim gasped for breath between waves of pain.

"No I'm not pregnant," she whispered.

"Yes, you are," the doctor told her as he careful felt around her stomach, causing her to yelp in pain, "by the feel of your uterus just starting to rise above your pubic bone I'd put you at about twelve weeks. Maybe more."

"Twelve _weeks?"_ Kim screamed.

"Looks like placental abruption," one of the medical experts flocking around her said.

"_I'm not pregnant!" _Kim cried.

"Are you sexually active?" the doctor asked her.

Kim didn't reply to his question. Her honest answer wasn't one she wanted to reflect upon right then. She closed her eyes and began to cry. She couldn't even tell what she was crying for - the shock, the pain, the fear, the situation or the man who had betrayed her trust and left her with another heart beating inside of her.

"_Kim?" _Simon's voice shook as he took a step towards her, shaken by the revelation that had been bestowed upon her and terrified for her state of mind. He tried to reach out to hold her hand but the snooty nurse batted his hand away.

"Are you the father?" she asked him.

"_What-? _No!" cried Simon.

"You've already been a colleague, a friend, and an alleged brother," the nurse raised an eyebrow, "thought maybe you had another ID to add to your repertoire."

"I am not the father!" cried Simon.

"Have you had sex with this young lady?"

"_No!"_ Simon cried, "I'm gay!"

"_And so am I," _Kim cried tearfully as anguished sobs began to emerge from deep within her.

"Huh-_what?"_ Simon turned around, his eyes widening infinitely in shock.

Kim's face contorted in torment, her truth finally coming out like someone had pulled the plug on an overflowing bath. She couldn't stop the tears from flowing, almost as though a spell had been broken. As she sobbed with confusion, guilt and anguish Simon stared at her, unable to fathom what the hell had just happened. Nothing seemed to make sense.

"Right, we need to get her scanned, see what's going on in there," the doctor was saying, "prepare her for possible surgery."

Simon stood, shaking his head, staring at Kim without any semblance of understanding whatsoever.

"Kim?" he asked quietly, _Kim?"_

Still unable to cease her sobs, Kim turned her head to face him and looked at him with pain of a different sort across her face.

"I don't know why I did it, Sir," she whispered between sobs, "I was so lonely and he was _so_ nice to me.. And then he did _something_ and I… couldn't break the hold he had over me." She closed her eyes, "_how _did he make me _want _him? I don't _understand…"_

"You really have to go now, Sir," this time it was the doctor rather than a snooty nurse shooing Simon out the door, "we need to take her for an urgent scan and it's possible that she will need emergency surgery to prevent her from bleeding to death. So whether you're her friend, her colleague, her brother or her weird straight-gay man-woman life partner, then you'll have to wait here."

"But -" Simon protested but the doctor cut him off with a warm had on his shoulder.

"_She's in good hands," _he said.

Watching them taking Kim away sent Simon into a whole new layer of confusion about Keats and the hold he had over people. There was a great deal he didn't understand but this took his nature to a whole new level.

He sank against the wall with his head in his hands and let out a long, deep breath, confusion and fear consuming every inch of him.

"_He's procreating," _he whispered.

That thought was the single most terrifying possibility he could imagine.


	43. Chapter 42: Single, Double & Baby Keats

**NOTE: if you****'ve got this story on alert it seems not everyone received the alert for the previous chapter. So if you haven't raed it yet and discovered Gene & Alex's recognition of her situation, the truth about Kim and some very annoying officers at Fenchurch West then please go back and read that first because it's central to the plot! Sorry about the glitch!**

**~~xxXxx~~**

**Chapter Forty Two**

Some time had passed since Gene had finally confronted Alex about her increasing, strange symptoms. For several minutes all they could do were to sit in silence, neither knowing what to say. Eventually Alex had pointed out quietly that they had something important to get on with, her way of letting Gene know that she wasn't ready or willing to consider it any more deeply at that precise moment. They could talk seriously later, when they were sure slippery Keats was back within their custody.

Once Gene had learnt the noble art of _Clicking On Files _they began their research, looking through everything they could find. The cover of finding details on Nailer had insured Fenchurch West didn't need to know what they were really using their station to seek information on and even the _holiday entertainer-esque _technical bod had no clue that it was actually their head of CID they were trying to pin down.

"Wait, here's something," Alex began. "Look at this."

Gene peered across at her screen.

"Jimbo's record of employment," he said, "Hmpf."

"I especially like the way being dead for ten years has been translated into _taken a long sabbatical recover from a hit and run accident,"_ Alex commented. She closed her eyes for a second as a bolt of white light filled her vision, but in an instant it was gone again.

"Looks like he came up for air about six months ago," Gene commented, "been working at Fenchurch West since the end of May. "

Alex looked at him a little anxiously.

"That wasn't long after my dream," she said quietly.

"Which one? The one with me and the snooker table?"

"The one where Keats was trying to kill me," Alex said, rolling her eyes.

Gene grunted. He remembered that night, when she had awoken from a dream that deeply disturbed and moved her. He remembered her speaking of Simon's presence in the dream, too. Things were beginning to make a little more sense now.

"How did he get himself a job like this?" he wondered.

"This file is a little thin on details," said Alex, "in fact, _all_ these files are a little thin on details." she paused with a sigh and shook her head. "Something doesn't seem right about the information on here at all, Gene. This isn't like _our _database. It's as though there's nothing of any substance. Like someone's just mocked it up."

"Could Jimbo have made false computer data wotsits, knowing we would have to use his computers?" Gene asked.

Alex shook her head.

"Even for Keats, that's a little too intricate and audacious," she said, "I don't think he could have anticipated this." she shook her head again. "No, it's almost like it's not real somehow. Like it's a half-hearted attempt at running a station."

"I'm not impressed either," Gene commented, "the only games on this one are solitaire and minesweeper. Minesweeper makes me want to headbutt the monitor."

"You've done enough headbutting for one day," said Alex.

Gene sighed.

"I see yer point about the files, Bols," he began, "seen more information on the back of a condom wrapper. I'd like to see if the paperwork has any more meat to it."

Alex flinched momentarily as a wave of nausea arrived. She swallowed it away and waited until her stomach settled down before asking Gene,

"Who do you personally know from this station?"

Gene accidentally started a game of Minesweeper.

"No one really," he said, setting off a mine with his first square on 'easy'. _"Bugger."_

"I don't mean as buddy-buddy pals, I just mean who you're acquainted with. Who have you worked with? Who would you call here if you wanted to ask about something?"

Gene shrugged.

"Don't ask me, Drake," he said, "I try to have as little to do with this place as possible. Few coppers I ever did meet from here had gone bad."

Alex leaned back a little, a frown creeping across her brow.

"Gene," she whispered, "have we ever had a bad apple in our station? Anyone who wasn't just working with us from another station or another department, I mean? Have we even had a single bent copper?"

"Apart from Shoebury, you mean?" asked Gene. He tried to ignore the withering glare from Alex. "Oh, come _on, _that was obligatory!"

"Gene…"

Gene sighed.

"No," he said, "not really. Not anyone that's… 'transferred', if that's what you mean. Can't speak for anyone who didn't come to us through the normal route but anyone who's come to us when they're pushing up the daisies… they've always been the good guys."

Alex began to rock a little in her seat. She didn't like where her thoughts were leading.

"Who was the previous head of CID here?" she asked quietly, attacking the files again, "who has Jim taken over from?"

Gene shrugged.

"Bolly, it could have been Mister Cadbury's Parrot for all I know," he said honestly.

Alex's concern grew as she failed to find any information. Her anxiety began to grow higher and higher and the nausea inside of her was no longer caused by her strange illness but by the possibility she didn't want to contemplate.

"What if Fenchurch West never really existed?" she whispered.

Gene looked at her like she had just suggested trying mineral water instead of scotch.

"What if sensible conversation never existed?" he countered.

"Gene, if you weren't here, what would happen to our station?" Alex asked quietly.

Gene shook his head. He didn't really know. It was a bit like the old riddle about whether a tree still made a noise of there was no one around to hear it fall.

"I don't think I like what you're suggesting, Bolly," he said quietly.

"Simon told that Keats said he became what he is because everything has an opposite," she said, "and the… _energy…_ that was floating around, that was the opposite to what you stood for… was looking for a willing host. What if Fenchurch East needed an opposite, to balance it out? What if the station had created the need for an 'opposite'…"

"…That was just waiting for a willing DCI to take the helm," Gene finished for her.

The look that passed between them could have sunk ships..

"_Shit," _breathed Alex.

Neither was certain whether the crackling radio was a blessed interruption or a demonstration of Simon's impossibly terrible timing.

"_Shoebury here… come in."_

Unable to break his stare from Alex, Gene reached out and lifted the radio.

"Go ahead, Shoebury."

There was a strange hesitation from Simon.

"_Uh… can I talk to Alex?"_

Gene frowned.

"Since when has the Gene Genie not been the primary subject of all CID communication?" he asked huffily.

"_I just think I should talk to Alex about this," _Simon said nervously.

"Think I can't handle a bit of blood and guts," asked Gene, "just spit it out, how is she?"

Simon hesitated again.

"_Kim's having a suspected miscarriage," _he said eventually. A look of horror struck Gene's expression and he began to turn slightly green as Simon continued; _"they said it was something called placental abruption. It's very rare in the first trimester, but…"_

"Alright, Shoebury," Gene spluttered as he swallowed hard to stop his breakfast making a speedy return, "I think Drakey is the one you need to talk to. I'll be washing out me ears with bleach."

He quickly passed the radio to Alex and rubbed his head violently to get all the girly words out of his mind.

Alex took the radio with deep-rooted fear in her heart. She almost didn't want to hear any more but had to ask.

"Go ahead, Simon," she said eventually, "how is she?"

"_They've taken her for a scan to find out for sure what's going on," _Simon told her,_ "and possibly emergency surgery."_

"Why the hell didn't she tell us she was pregnant?" Alex cried, shaking her head. She remembered how paranoid she was during her pregnancy with Molly, terrified that every little thing could cause her to miscarry. If she'd been in Kim's position, alerting her superiors would have been the first thing on her mind..

"_She didn't know, Alex," _Simon sighed, _"honestly, she didn't have a clue."_

"She can't be very far along then?"

"_Uh… you would think not," _she heard Simon sighing again, _"they think she's about twelve weeks. Possibly more. They think the placenta is -"_

"_La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…"_ Gene started singing with his fingers in his ears, blocking out the female talk again.

"_- coming away from her womb. Apparently it's really rare this early but Keats kicked her in the stomach just before you and Gene arrived. It was horrible, Alex, so vicious. They say if the blow was hard enough then it could have caused it, especially as she was already at an increased risk from things like her heavy smoking."_

Alex closed her eyes, the breath leaving her body with shock and sadness.

"Shit," she breathed. She was becoming fond of that word.

"_Alex… there's something more you need to know," _Simon continued.

Alex wasn't sure she had the heart to know any more after hearing such heartbreaking news but had little choice.

"Go on," she whispered.

"_I don't know how much of this you caught," _Simon continued, _"but we found out something about Kim and Keats this morning…"_

Just as she thought no news could bring her down more, Alex's heart sank right through the floor and a boulder came to rest in her chest, threatening to stop her from breathing. She looked at Gene whose face was grim and fearful.

"It's Keats's baby," she whispered, "isn't it?"

The silence on the radio was telling enough. It took a few moments before Simon could bring himself to confirm it.

"_Believe it or not," _Simon's voice seemed strained and troubled_, "that's not even the worst part of all this."_

"What do you mean?"

"_Uh… maybe we should talk about this in person," _Simon seemed reluctant to carry on over the radio.

"Come on, Simon, I think it's clear we need to know as much as we can right now. We don't know how much time we have."

She could hear Simon sigh again and eventually he spoke.

"_I found out something about Kim," _he said_, "let's just say Keats isn't usually her type." _

Alex glanced at Gene.

"What are you trying to say, Simon?" she asked.

There was another pause.

"_Alex, when Keats was talking about…" _he trailed off, _"no, we really shouldn't talk about this now."_

"No, go on," Alex said quietly.

"_What Keats said earlier," _Simon said nervously, _"making out that you and he were.. Well, going to…"_

Alex looked at Gene who had already got to his feet and turned away. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she had listened to Simon's advice and waited until they could have spoken in private.

"Yes?" she cut him off before he could go on.

"_You said he drugged you?"_

Memories of Keats and his hypnotic hold filtered back to her. She could still smell his scent wafting around her like a mist in the air and feel the urge she had right there and then to give him what he wanted from her. It shook her up inside all over again to think about it.

"Yes," she whispered.

"_What did he do?" _Simon asked quietly, _"you said it was gas and air?"_

Alex glanced up at Gene who was walking around the room like a caged tiger, growing angrier by the second as the memory returned to him.

"Yes," she whispered, "he filled the room with Nitrous Oxide." She hesitated, "but it was more than that." It cut her up inside to think about it but his hold extended beyond the laughing gas. "It was like…" her voice began to wobble, "like he had me under a spell."

"_Kim said pretty much the same thing," _Simon said anxiously, _"except in her case…" _he paused, _"..is Gene still there?"_

Alex glanced up at him.

"Why?"

"_He might want to cover his ears."_

"Not more lady words?" Gene scowled.

"Simon, what is it?" Alex asked, ignoring him.

"_Kim's gay," _Simon said quietly, "_and he still put her under his power."_

Alex looked at Gene who seemed to have taken the revelation surprisingly well.

"_Shit," _Alex said again.

"_Check the basement for laughing gas," _Simon said randomly.

"Uh… why?"

"_They did it down there."_

Alex's head was starting to hurt.

"OK," she said.

There was a pause then Simon's voice came on again.

"_They're bringing Kim back," _he said, _"I'll keep in touch."_

Alex's heart sank all over again at the thought of Kim's situation, then froze as the reality of Keats having a child began to sink in.

"Tell her… tell her we're all thinking of her," she whispered, a lump threatening to arrive in her throat.

"_I will," _Simon promised, _"over and out."_

As the radio silenced, Alex looked at Gene with a heavy heart and fear in her eyes.

"Poor Kim," she whispered, "You know what this means, don't you?"

Gene nodded grimly.

"Yes," he said, "it means I've got a bloody carpet-muncher in CID."

"Gene! This is serious!" Alex cried, "If Keats reproduces, what happens to the babt? Does it inherit more about its father than just his DNA?"

Gene hadn't even stopped to consider that. His image of a little Jimbo had so far consisted of a baby toddling a round in spectacles with a line of pencils sticking out his nappy. The implications Alex suggested went way beyond that.

"Then," he began grimly, "for once I think we have to pray things turn out for the _worse."_

Alex hung her head. She knew what he was saying and she understood the reason why but she couldn't bring herself to wish that kind of heartbreak on anybody.

"I didn't even know if pregnancy was possible," she said quietly.

"With Jimbo?" said Gene, "yeah, I thought he was firing blanks too."

"No, I mean, with one of us… in this situation. Life hanging in the balance."

"I guess Keats answered that teaser," said Gene.

To distract her from the awful thoughts going round in her head, Alex stared back at he screen where a couple of searches and files were still open.

"What _is_ it that he does?" she whispered.

Gene scratched his head.

"If she's knocked up with a mini-Jim then why did he stick a boot in her belly?" he asked.

"If Kim didn't know then he probably didn't know either," Alex said quietly. She frowned as a line on the database caught her attention. _"Wha- _you have _got_ to be kidding."

"What now, Bolly?" Gene sighed, "baby clothes for the devil with a hole cut in the back for its forked tail?"

Alex moved back.

"I think you should see this, Gene," she whispered.

Gene peered at the screen where a database of members of the force countrywide were accessible. There, above the details of Keats's new appointment was another entry.

"_PC James Keats, born nineteen-seventy, years of active service, nineteen ninety one onwards, currently…"_

_Alex finished for him._

"…_in a comatose condition." _she whispered, "We've arrived at Keats's living years."

Gene swallowed.

"It's an era of double Jimbos," he said quietly.

Before they had a chance to let that sink in Malcolm rushed into the room, skidded and fell over a bin.

"Guv," he cried, "Missus guv… there's something we think you need to see on the CCTV footage." he paused, "or _not_ see in this case…"

"Oh no," Alex sighed, "you didn't wipe the tape by recording over it with _The Landscape Channel_ did you?"

"I almost wish I had," Malcolm said nervously.

Gene already felt about as wretched and grim as he could possibly get. His secret was out, his team was crumbling, his station in pieces, there were double Keatses and baby Keatses and the homosexual population of CID threatened to make him part of a straight minority. He wasn't sure he wanted to know any more.

"We'll come and look at your tapes," he said, "but I'm warning you, if I find any of Keats' _classics_ amongst them then the telly is going right out of the window."

Those words sent a strange shiver down Alex's spine. _Out of the window._ That was how she found her way back to Gene in the first place. As a throbbing pain grew stronger in her head, she hoped that Gene's words weren't bringing her time alongside him full circle.

She wasn't ready to face a goodbye.


	44. Chapter 43: Buried Memories

**Chapter Forty Three**

"We got the tape from the foyer first," Susannah explained as Malcolm led Gene and Alex into the room, "and we've watched it about fifteen times but we still can't make any sense of what happens here.

Gene thumped heavily into a chair, squashing Malcolm's velvet jacket under his backside as Alex sat next to him, never glad where there were tapes to be watched attached to the word 'Keats'.

"Let's see 'is show reel then," Gene said quietly.

Susannah quietly pressed play on the video recorder and stood back so they could watch the tape without her getting in the way of the screen and obscuring their view of something impossible. On the screen before them, the camera showed a birds eye view of the chaotic foyer, with Gene roughly handcuffing Keats to the banister. All around them, people were wandering ad milling, all trying to reach their destination. A smattering of Fenchurch East CID could be seen arguing crying and kicking things between them.

Gene ran his hand through his hair, watching the action on tape.

"D'you think I'm going a bit thin on top?" he asked.

Alex turned to him, fairly shocked that this was his priority.

"Guv, I think you're focusing on the wrong part," she pointed out, before glancing at her own taped image. "Does my bum look big in that?"

Susannah wasn't listening.

"Look," she said, "Keats is right here, all that time…"

"Is he gnawing on the banister?" frowned Gene.

"…and he stays here until…" Susannah paused until the picture distorted slightly and then levelled out to show Keats had simply vanished.

"Wait," frowned Alex, "there must have been something here… does this officer let him out?" she took the remote control and rewound a few moments but as they watched again it was clear that nobody let him out. One moment he was there, the next -

"People do not just vanisth into thin air," frowned Gene.

Alex bit her lip.

"'_People' _don't," she repeated.

"Let me show you something," Susannah pointed to the corner of the screen as she rewound, "watch the time."

Gene and Alex looked on as she placed the tape again, this time taking note of the clock at the bottom of the screen. As it reached the moment that Keats disappeared the clock seemed to get confused, going back by one second, then forward by two.

"What?" Alex frowned at the screen.

Susannah rewound and played the tape one last time, this time in slow motion.

"It doesn't make any sense," Susannah said crossly, "we've watched tapes around the same time from every corridor and staircase that leads to this room but he just vanishes."

"I'm not buying this," Gene said huffily, "he's a slippery character but he's not a blinking ghost."

"It's his second time back" Alex said quietly, "maybe he's a little mire… _ethereal_ than he used to be."

Gene wasn't paying full attention and thought she'd said 'effeminate', which he absently agreed with, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Alright, what have you got for Nailer?" he asked.

"It's pretty self explanatory," said Susannah as she ejected the tape and slotted another into the machine. As she pressed play an image of the custody cells came up on the screen. "This was from about half an hour before everything kicked off in the basement."

There was little that needed to be said as Keats entered and moved right across to Nailer's cell, let himself in and emerged a few moments later without locking it up. A little tilt of the head and Gene found himself staring at a smirking Keats, looking straight at him through the monitor.

"That slimy _prick!" _Gene cried, bashing his fists against the desk.

"Nailer waits for a good twenty minutes before appearing in overalls like he's been painting the walls and just walks through unnoticed. The custody sergeant… well, there's no sign of one," Susannah hung her head. "Please don't think badly of me Guv, Ma'am, but it looks almost like the station is half unmanned. Are there… funding issues we should know about?"

"No, but there are wanker issues," Gene mumbled. "What does he want with Nailer? Have they got a deal going or something? Did he pay him to put the explosives in the computer?"

"No, Simon and Robin were very clear about that," said Alex, "he used his knowledge of the past when he came back."

"He's in a bloody coma!"

"News reports can filter through those," Alex whispered, the memory of a weathervane bringing a tear to her eye. Her voice wobbled just a little. "No, I think his decision to set Nailer on the loose was a little more personal than that."

"A great big bloody two fingered salute at the Gene Genie and Fenchurch East," he mumbled.

"What did you mean Keats is in a coma?" frowned Malcolm.

Alex's head was hurting again as she glanced at him.

"It's complicated," she whispered.

"No it's not," said Gene, "there's a twenty-five your old Jimbo laying in hospital not a million miles away from here while 'is consciousness if off skulking around the eighties, trying to get between me and Bolly. And there's an inch-long Jimbo sitting inside Kim, waiting to see if 'es going to stay or go."

"What?" Susannah frowned.

"Kim's pregnant," Alex said quietly, "They think she is having a miscarriage."

"Oh _no,"_ Susannah sank onto the edge of a table.

"We're no closer to finding out the truth now than we were before Shoebury introduced me to double clicking," said Gene.

"Is that like swinging?" frowned Malcolm.

Gene shot him a dirty look.

"Someone will be swinging from the roof in a minute," he began but Alex cut him off.

"That's enough!," she cried, "this isn't getting us anywhere. Calm down, Jim!"

Gene frowned.

"_Jim?"_

Alex put her palm to her forehead and sighed.

"_Gene," _she corrected, "I meant Gene."

"You called me _Jim!"_

"I'm just getting _confused_ now," Alex rubbed her head and slowly stood up. "We need to make some decisions and we need to do it fast. We'll show Susannah and Malcolm what we found out and we brainstorm where to go from here. OK?"

Gene was still smarting from Alex's slip-up. His eyes grew dark and he pouted like a moody teen. He stared at her, hardly believing she could have said the wrong name. A mistake it might have been but if there as one thing that wasn't going to please him it was being linked with Keats.

"I'll make meself a name badge, shall I?" he said crossly as he stood up and began to walk slowly from the room.

Alex sighed, her head spinning and throbbing.

"Gene, it was a mistake!" she cried, "we've said the word 'Jim' about forty three tomes in the last half an hour, I've just got it stuck in my head, that's all!" She followed him to the door, wondering how many lattes it was going to take to make this up to him and glanced back. "Come through and we'll show you what we've found out."

"OK," Malcolm picked up his slightly creased jacket and tried to brush the Gene-shaped buttock marks off of the velvet, knocking over a pile of tapes with the tail of it.

"Clumsy boy," Susannah admonished, scooping down to collect them up.

"Sorry," Malcolm cringed. He wasn't the most graceful of creatures and gave her reason to call him clumsy at least once a day.

As she began to gather up the tapes she came across one that hadn't been there before. She was certain she'd have seen it. While the others were labelled things like; _Main Foyer, Camera 3_ this one simply said; _SUSANNAH_ in thick, black marker_._ She froze, a jolt in her heart sending a shudder through her bones. She glanced up at her waiting colleagues and tried to clear her throat.

"Uh… you go through," she whispered, "I just want to tidy these away."

"We can wait for you," said Malcolm.

"No need, I won't be a second," Susannah tried to smile but her lips were stuck in a neutral position.

"Alright, said Alex, "we're just in the IT suite, second door along the corridor."

"Sure," Susannah nodded. She watched them go, then her eyes turned back to the tape in her hand. She slipped the cassette from its plain white sleeve and turned it over and over in her hands. It seemed like a fairly innocuous item on its own but somehow it appeared to crackle with terrifying energy. Why hadn't she noticed it before? What was it even doing there? Why would someone have a tape labelled 'Susannah'? Unless it was the tape from her time spent captive in the basement? That wouldn't have surprised her. She could just imagine Keats gloating as he watched a tape like that, seeing her yelling for help and begging to be released.

Still, curiosity was a hard sensation to ignore and the tape in her hands seemed to be for her, so before she could talk herself out of it and change her mind she ejected the custody tape and slipped the one baring her name into the recorder instead.

With a deep breath in, she picked up the remote and pressed 'play'.

The next thing she remembered hearing were the sounds of her own screams.

~xXx~

Simon watched as a still, quiet and listless Kim was wheeled past him. He gave chase after one of the doctors, annoying him slightly by grabbing his white coat and asked,

"How is she?"

The doctor turned to Simon looking downbeat.

"She's lost a lot of blood, We'll need to keep her in overnight and monitor things to see if she needs a transfusion."

"And the baby?"

The doctor shook his head slightly and gave him what was supposed to be a comforting pat on the arm.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"_Shit," _Simon breathed quietly.

"The pregnancy was already failing," the doctor told him, "getting kicked in the abdomen was more than she could take.." he paused. "Sorry."

Simon watched as the doctors took Kim away to the ward, following slowly behind them. His heart broke for Kim - unknown and unplanned the pregnancy might have been but he couldn't imagine how she was ever going to get over this. At the same time the relief at knowing Keats wasn't going to have any offspring, at least not yet, came as a massive relief, so much so that Simon hadn't even realised how terrifying the thought had been.

There was a nagging question in the back of his mind; whether on some level this was what Keats wanted. To pass on his genetics to a new generation. The thought of it made Simon shudder, but he couldn't block it out of his mind.

"_Not today, Keats," _he mumbled, then picked up his speed before he lost sight of Kim and spent the next hour wandering around the hospital like a little lost sheep.

~xXx~

There they were two men in the darkness. Hidden just out of site as the young detective took the back way on a dingy night. She could hear a strange sound, the noise of soil being dug up and dropped into a growing pile, the sound of shovels pushing downward into the ground, then brining up another load of dirt.

The sound was so strange that she couldn't help but take a peek. Curiosity was in her nature. That's why she got into the force in the first place. Through the bushes and trees alongside the alleyway that led off into a patch of woodland she could make out a little movement and more noises. It seemed like a strange thing to witness and her instincts went immediately on alert.

Slowly, quietly, she tiptoed through the trees, closer and closer, until she peered through the greenery and could finally see where the noise was coming from.

Two men; middle aged. One with a fuzzy beard and a woolly hat, the other thin and gaunt with a whiskey bottle just within reach. The hole before them was growing bigger all the time as shovel after shovel of dirt piled up beside it.

"_Right, that should be deep enough now,"_ one of them said, _"Get the bags."_

Staying out of sight, she watched in shock as the two men hauled across familiar yellow sacks and prepared to bury them lout of sight.

"_Be careful,"_ one of them warned, "_You don't know what's in this stuff! Put your gloves on!"_

As one of the men took his friend's advice an pulled on a thick pair of gloves, the young woman recognised the bags. They were for sharps; used medical equipment such as needles. Disposal wasn't cheap and for the companies that offered it the service could be fairly lucrative. Unfortunately, not everyone provided the service they promised.

The woman felt anger starting to build up inside her. The short time she'd spent training to become a nurse before she realised she had a different calling brought home to her how important the safe disposal of such items was. Anything could be in those bags. Needles containing goodness knows what… patient's blood… dangerous chemicals. There was no way of knowing.

What if a small child came to play amongst the trees? What if he fell on something sharp sticking out the ground? What if he dug into the soil with his hands and discovered the bags? It didn't bear thinking about.

Instinctively she reached for her ID and stepped out from her hiding place.

"Fenchurch CID," she cried, "I'm arresting you for the illegal dumping of medical waste…"

Before she could caution them one of the men dropped his shovel and took off, causing the detective to begin to give chase. She didn't get very far.

The second man, shovel in hand, let his instincts take over before his common sense could intercept them, swinging it around as hard as he could and brining it down with a crack on top of the young lady's head.

~x~

"_NO!"_

Susannah heard her own vice screaming. She didn't even know she was doing it at first. The scream came from deep within her, as though it had spent years buried, waiting to reach the surface again. Her palms were clammy and her heart thumped away inside her chest as her eyes stayed fixed to the screen, the picture burrowing deeply into her mind.

~x~

"Oh my _GOD!"_

The running man turned back at hearing his friend's cry.

"Shit! What the hell have you done?"

"She was going to arrest us! _I_ ain't going to jail. Not for _this!"_

"No, you won't, you'll be going for murder!"

"Help me! What the hell do I do?"

"I don't know!"

"I can't think straight!"

"Calm the fuck down! We'll be OK…. Look, pull those bags back out…"

~x~

Her throat moved as she swallowed, bile rising inside her chest as the two men dragged the bags back to the surface of the hole and began shovelling more soil out into piles.

Deeper, wider, darker.

The hold grew and so did Susannah's tears

~x~

"_Throw her in the pit."_

Lifting one end of her floppy body each, the two men picked her up and dropped her callously into the hole. She landed face-up, blood seeping from her ear and soil spoiling her pretty features.

A shovel load of dirt landed on her. Two. _Three. _One after another they came, covering her from head to toe. As she lay beneath the soil her chest still rose and fell, shallow breaths but breaths none the less. Unconscious, unable to show she was still alive, she lay there still as the soil slowly covered every inch of her and her chest could rise no more.

The last shovel of soil hit her with the force of an earthquake.

~x~

"_No!"_ her scream was shrill and desperate, her body shaking all over and her mind screaming with the harrowing images she'd just watched through a TV screen. She couldn't take it for a moment longer, leaping to her feet and knocking her chair sideways, then running from the room with no direction or purpose, other than to escape the scene that would be forever etched into her memory.

"_Susie?" _Malcolm came out of the IT suite at the sound of her cries. The sight of her shocked him deep down to the core of his being. Never had he seen her with eyes so dark or a pallor so grey. "Susie, what the hell's happened?" He caught her in his arms as she ran.

For a moment she seemed shocked to see him. So desperate was she to escape the video that she hadn't even remembered Malcolm was in the room just two doors away. She didn't know where she was going to end up running to, she was just going to keep on running until her legs gave way.

"_They didn't even check to see if I was breathing!"_ she screamed, her throat growing raw from the volume of her cries.

"What?" Malcolm tried to hold her but she struggled in his arms.

"I was still alive!" she screamed, "and then I couldn't _breathe!"_

From the doorway Gene and Alex appeared, their expressions identical in confusion and worry.

"Susannah, what's happened?" Alex asked quickly.

Susannah's eyes were full of tears which began to run wildly down her face.

"He hit me with a shovel and they threw me in a hole! I was still alive! I was still _breathing…. _Then they buried me, until I couldn't breathe any more…"

Finally her throat felt like it couldn't scream again and she succumbed to silent sobs, pressing her face against Malcolm's chest where the sound of his beating heart brought her a strange comfort and the kind of warmth that she craved.

Alex looked at Gene gravely, a sadness in her eyes that she couldn't hide.

"_Gene…?" _she didn't need to ask the question.

He nodded slowly.

"Yes, Bolly," he whispered, "that's how she died."

Alex was surprised by how deeply Gene's words saddened her. She couldn't imagine a more horrifying death and the thought of Susannah's trauma as she watched the events unfold rocked her confidence in the purpose of their world. Staring at the girl in pieces she could see echoes of Shaz, Chris and Ray. She couldn't imagine how Susannah would ever be able to sleep again.

"I think it might be time to get your flask from the car," she said quietly to Gene.

"Sod that, I'll bet Jim's got something tucked away," said Gene, shuffling off to see if there was anything of a decent vintage to swipe.

"Ma'am?" Malcolm's voice sounded anxious, "Ma'am, something's wrong with Susannah…"

In his arms, his fiancée was panting, gasping for air.

"_Can't breathe," _

"_She's having a panic attack," _Alex said quickly.

"B-but _she's_ the one that does the first aid!" cried Malcolm, "I don't know what to do!"

"Get her in here," Alex stepped back to allow them into the IT suite and busied herself calming Susannah down, stopping her from hyperventilating, bringing her a glass of water, holding her hand and offering her tissues for her tears but it just didn't seem enough. One of the strongest people Alex had ever met had been brought to her knees in a matter of moments. They'd had enough nasty surprises for one day, Alex thought angrily. It was time for Keats to be on the receiving end of one or two of his own.

~xXx~

Kim's consciousness drifted in and out; a mixture the pain, the pain medication and the blood loss had left her in a less than lucid state. She'd been on the ward for a good ten minutes before she even became aware of someone sitting beside her bed. She blearily opened her eye and tried to focus.

"Sir?" she said quietly. "What are you still doing here? You should be finding lard-head, not sitting around with me."

"Someone had to stay, with you," Simon told her, "couldn't leave you on your own to deal with this."

Kim's eyes turned downward and she felt a storm of anguish building up in her chest. It seemed to be quashing her ability to breathe.

"I feel so _stupid," _she whispered.

"You just made a mistake," said Simon, "that's all."

"_Lots _of mistakes," Kim said quietly.

"Kim, how long… exactly… were you and Keats together?"

"Together's a bit of a strong word," Kim said quietly.

"How long have you know him then?"

Kim sniffed a little.

"Four months or so," she whispered, "I'd been here a couple of months and I was just scared and lonely. I'd found out stuff about my sister… she went missing when I was younger… and I kept hearing voices like I was in hospital somewhere. Everyone thought I was crazy. They used to make cuckoo noises behind my back in the office."

Simon gave a deep sigh.

"It comes with the territory," he said quietly.

"I got into the swing of ladette culture," Kim said quietly, her whole body weakened, "and I really did enjoy it at first. Cut my hair, got everything pierced that I wanted to but was afraid to back home. Went out every night of the week, drinking beer and smoking until someone had to drag me back home on a rug." She regretted so much of that now. "one day Hunt pissed me off so much. Called me Metal Mickey one time too many, so I stole his scotch and went outside to get ratted. I'd only had a few swigs when this," she froze, closing her eyes involuntarily. Even thinking about Keats sent her into a strange haze. "this man…with this long coat the just flowed like the ocean… He stood there in front of me. Smoke hung around him like a mist. It was like he wasn't real. He told me I looked like I was out of place. I said, you're not wrong." She started to wish she had that stolen bottle of scotch to swig on right there and then.

"He has a habit of accosting people at their most vulnerable," Simon said quietly.

Kim fiddled with the top of her hospital sheet.

"He said he knew about Hunt. Said he'd been picking on people for years and he was willing to do something about it. He said he was going to get rid of everything that was wrong with CID and give us the recognition we deserve. I needed that! I'd already been demoted to DC! I needed something to pick me up. He asked me to meet him for a drink, to discuss the details. He told me if I helped him then I could go home. He was the only one who understood where I was _from."_

"I thought that too," Simon looked down, recalling Keats' manipulation of him during his time in 1985.

"So, I met him. He was charming. I turned him down, politely. Explained I had a girlfriend back home. Put his hands up with a smile, said _'fair play' _and backed away Perfect gentleman." She shook her head. "didn't stay that way for long."

"What did he do?" Simon's voice broke, almost dreading the answer.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," Kim said quietly, "the first time, he'd bought me wine. Lots and lots of wine. Kept filling my glass, making sure it was full to the brim. I was completely off my face by the end of the night and he took me home. Sat me down, went to make me a coffee, sober me up."

Such an innocent sentence came like a stab through the heart to Simon.

"Oh, no, _no," _he shook his head. He'd experienced one of Keats' 'coffees'.

"I started to feel funny," Kim said in slow, measured tomes as though trying to work through every moment of the night, "It wasn't the alcohol. I've been pissed that many times I've practically got a loyalty card with Carlsberg. The room started spinning and I felt kind of floaty. And then," she swallowed, "there he was. And I couldn't get him out of my head." she flinched at the memory. "He stood over me and took off his glasses… those _eyes_…" she closed her own as the image came back to her, "I can't explain it, sir, it was like… like something was swelling in my chest. Like I just couldn't breathe in deeply enough to get enough oxygen into my body. I felt this crushing desire," she choked on the words as they went against every fibre of her being, "it was like my body just… opened up for him."

Simon swallowed. He wasn't sure if he should even be hearing this.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"We went to bed," Kim whispered, "and in the morning he'd gone. I thought I would feel so regretful… but I didn't." Simon could see self-loathing appear in her face for what she was about to share. "and all through that day, I couldn't get him out of my head. I couldn't escape him. All I could see was those eyes… that smile. I could hear him whispering to me. Every time I remembered the feeling of his breath on my neck it made me shiver all through my body. I _ached_ for him, Sir… like when you are so thirsty and your mouth is so dry that all you can think about is the feeling of cool water sliding over your tongue and how good it will feel when you finally get a long, cold drink? All I could think about was his body, pressing against mine. Quenching my thirst"

Simon had to gulp and shake his head to stir himself out of a daze. Even _he _ was falling in love with Keats though Kim's words.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"Every time I saw him I'd tell myself that I wasn't going to give in this time," Kim told him, "and every time, he breezed into my world with his slick coat and his haze of smoke and those eyes..." She felt a throbbing in her chest from the memory. "He asked me to help him with some things… little things… a file here, a camera there… I knew it wasn't right but every time I tried to protest the spell came over me and we'd end up in bed, or over his desk…" her voice began to break, "or against the wall… in the cells… the back of his car…" he looked at him guiltily. "the back of _Hunt's_ car…"

Simon almost choked on air.

"Gene's _car?"_ he cried, "his precious _Fiat?_ Does he know?"

"Am I still living and breathing? Of course he doesn't know! If he did I wouldn't be here!"

Simon shook his head slowly,

"Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Jim said it would be the ultimate prize," Kim said quietly, "he said it would be like kicking him in the balls. I knew it was wrong, but Hunt… just kept on pissing me off, and Jim was so masterful," she paused, scarcely believing she had used a word like 'masterful'.

"So, sex, cameras, what else?" Simon asked quietly, really quite disturbed by the image of Keats's arse going up and down in the back of a car.

"I started to feel so, so guilty," Kim whispered, "I missed Sandra so much. I tried to tell Jim it was over but he told me if I stopped seeing him I'd never get home. I told him he'd promised me that weeks ago and nothing had changed. Every time I tried to fight the urge I'd go woozy again. Every time he came near me… I felt like when they gave me that stuff in the ambulance."

"Gas and air," Simon said quietly.

Kim nodded.

"Then you came along," she told him, "and I could see you weren't from here ether. I thought you could get me home."

Simon felt a little deflated.

"I wish I could," he said quietly.

"I phoned him, I told him it as over and I wasn't going to work against Hunt any more. But as you know, he didn't like that."

Simon gave a sad sigh and looked at Kim sympathetically.

"Don't feel bad, Kim," he said quietly, "we've all been taken in by him. It's hard to see through his promises, especially when you're lost and far from home." He paused. "But there's one thing I don't understand. How can you be three month's pregnant and not _know?"_

Kim gave a half-hearted laugh.

"I thought I wouldn't get pregnant because I'm gay," she said, "how dumb does that sound now? I'd never had to think about birth control before."

"But didn't you _know?_ asked Simon, "weren't there signs? My DI had a baby, she was puking all hours of the day."

Kim shrugged.

"When I wasn't seeing Keats I was going out and drinking beer all night," she said, "I'd wake up feeling green at the gills, but that as situation normal. It wasn't a good night if I didn't wake up over the toilet bowl."

Simon cringed.

"Definitely a ladette," he commented.

Kim looked away and her eyes grew misty.

"I know I got a bit of a belly… thought that was the beer. I didn't think it mattered. This wasn't real… I'd be going home at any time, back in my usual body. My usual, boring body, with the boring long, dark hair I never liked, no holes, no art." she gave a little sigh. "maybe there are one or two positives about his place after all."

Simon gave a thin smile as he looked at her, then suddenly he frowned. Something was coming back to him. A tiny spark lit up in the back of his mind and caused him to physically jolt with surprise.

Malcolm's memorial. The sad day. Feeling so out of place, attending with all the colleagues from 2010.

Slipping in to a seat… trying to disappear into the background…

And then someone. A woman.

A woman in a black veil, slipping into the chair beside him.

"_You," _Simon whispered.

As he stared, her features began to fit. The piercings and the blonde hair melted away in his mind; he saw her face and face alone, just as he'd seen it under that veil.

"It was _you."_

Kim looked a little nervous.

"What was me?" she whispered, "what have I done now?"

Simon shook his head slowly.

"Nothing," he whispered, "I… I saw you before. At Malcolm's memorial."

Kim frowned.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

Simon felt tears springing into his eyes. He tried to gulp them away and took her hand.

"Kim," he whispered, "what year are you from?"

"Two thousand and three," Kim whispered, the blessed release of being able to say it taking her breath away.

Simon closed his eyes.

"You were _there, _in two thousand and ten," he whispered, "at Malcolm's memorial. You sat next to me. You knew me… but I didn't know you."

"What?"

"You make it, Kim," Simon felt a surprising tear roll down his face which he wiped away roughly, "you get home. And some seven years later, you'll come and sit next to me at Malcolm's memorial service. I'll have gone home from my first time here…" he glanced down, "and that night_, I'll _be the one who's on Keats' menu." he shook his head slowly. "But you make it. I promise you now, you are going to get home."

Simons words caught Kim unawares. They caused an unexpected cry that lay somewhere between joy and shock to fly from her vocal chords. She closed her eyes just for a moment and could hear the bleeping of machines, but it wasn't coming fro the ones around her bed.

"_That's it… the bleeding's stopped. Good work, everyone," _the voice came clearly through, _"Let's get her sewn up and take her through."_

That was the moment that Kim knew her life was worth fighting for, and with that decision it was half the battle won.

~xXx~

Gene poked about in the office that belonged to his nemesis, feeling as though he was in the enemy lair. He couldn't quell the anger on the rise inside him. Jimbo was playing a game of _Anything you can do I can do better_ - without actually doing any of it better yet. _Yet._ He knew they had to put a stop to him before he had a chance to improve.

"What we got here?" Gene mumbled, finding a bottle of something that turned out to be cheap and rough. "Oh look, Jimbo represented in alcoholic form. It'll have to do, mind."

"Excuse me?" Gene glanced up to see who'd spoken. "Are you looking for the Guv?"

Facing a tall redhead in an off-the-shoulder green jumper and miniskirt, he tried to hide the bottle and said quickly,

"For once, yes, I am."

"Sorry, you've just missed him," the woman apologised, "I saw him in the car park fifteen minutes ago. He's just gone home."

"_Home?" _Gene, somehow, hadn't expected that. He had come to picture Keats without even having a home. Possibly turning into some kind of bat, hanging upside down under the coat rack. "You got an address for him, love?"

"I could pull it off the database," the woman suggested.

Gene huffed a little.

"Never mind," he said, "I've got me own _Super-duper extra-special Fenchurch west logon. _I'll take a look meself."

Grabbing a file or two to hide his bottle, Gene slipped quickly out if the room and at speed towards the IT suite. Ignoring the pale, despondent Susannah and the mortified Malcolm he sat the bottle hard on the table and said,

"How's that belly ache, Bols?"

Alex looked up a little nervously.

"Been… _better_… why?"

Gene looked grim.

"Time to fire up the sick-bag, Bolly," he said, "Looks like it's time to see that Andrew Ridgeley autograph for ourselves…"


	45. Chapter 44: Through the Keyhole

**Chapter Forty Four**

Susannah's colour had drained out of her cheeks as she sat with a large glass of scotch. She remembered some ten years earlier, days after joining Fenchurch East, Gene had revealed his preferred method of first aid to be a large measure of spirits. Step two, if she remembered correctly, was sticking your head between your legs.

_"That's not a proper first-aid procedure," _she had admonished him at the time.

A decade on, she was starting to see its appeal.

"If DI Baggy Jumper was right then we need to find out where he lives and check out the colour of his couches," Gene told them.

"Why would he just go 'home'?" asked Alex.

"He knew he was getting his showdown today," said Gene, "but probably didn't think it would end in a pair of handcuffs. He's so up his own backside he's probably put the kettle on, waiting for us. Thinks he's untouchable. At the very least he'll be packing all his Wham tapes and pencils into a suitcase and going on a long journey."

"Here," Alex pulled up his address from the database and scrawled it on some paper, "this is where he lives."

"Right," Gene took the note and turned to Susannah. "Listen 'ere, Kite. You and Jarvis Cocker should stay here."

"No, I want to go," Susannah said quickly.

"Someone needs to stay and keep watch over Enemy Towers. I take it Drake filled you in on our hypothermic-"

"Hypothesis," Alex interrupted with a little smile.

"That's the one."

Susannah nodded.

"A station moulded around Keats," she shuddered.

"Someone needs to stay here in case he comes back," Gene told her seriously, "and if he does, you can bet someone's going to end up needing first aid so you're the sterling choice. Got it?"

Susannah gave a little smile.

"Yes, Guv," she said.

Gene looked at Susannah sadly. Something inside him told him that he might not be coming back from this one. He cleared his throat and shuffled a little awkwardly.

"Ten years, Kite," he said. He took the bottle and poured himself a short one, "I know I might not have said this enough but the team wouldn't have been half as strong without you. You've been a lynchpin. And you even got this one blowing 'is own nose," he pointed to Malcolm, although he happened to be picking it at the time. "Whatever Keats tried to put in yer head you've been a good DI and I've always appreciated that. You're one of the good ones, Kite."

He held his glass out in a gesture that took Susannah by surprise. Lowly, she reached forward with her own to chink it against Gene's and took a warming sip.

Gene downed his measure and sat the glass on the desk.

"I want you to get the rest of that down you," he told her, nodding at her glass, "and Malcolm," he turned to him, "you make sure she's alright."

Malcolm nodded, his arm firmly around Susannah's shoulders.

"Yes, Guv," he said quietly.

Gene turned to Alex.

"Ready to face the snake pit?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," she said.

She got to her feet and followed Gene out of the room, a tingle travelling down her spine. It felt as though whatever was about to unfold could change everything. She didn't know how or why. She just knew something was hanging in the air, and it chilled her to the bone.

~xXx~

Alex leaned back in the passenger seat, the window slightly open and the breeze whipping around her face. She stared at Gene as he drove. A deep-seated feeling of contentment settled inside of her. This was the most familiar experience in her life; sitting there with Gene beside her, never quite knowing whether they were going to make their destination safely or whether his driving was going to reach the end of its run of luck, throwing the odd sarcastic comment his way.

She gave a smile. She couldn't resist.

"You're really anxious to see that Andrew Ridgeley autograph, aren't you?" she said.

"Just don't want to miss out on slapping another set of handcuffs on his number one fan, that's all,"

Alex smiled and stared into the distance. Her headache was beginning to grow worse so she closed one eye and rested her hand on the side that was throbbing the most.

"What is the plan when we get there, Gene?" she asked quietly.

"I think we're going to go for the ripping-his-bollocks off approach," said Gene, "I've had enough of his slippery arse turning up every where we go this week. He's blown up me station, impregnated the DC, sent my DI into a panic attack and picked really crap songs at the karaoke." he paused. "No one gets away with ruining my musical entertainment."

The rest of the journey passed quickly and before you could say 'Club Tropicana' they found themselves at a large but slightly decrepit-looking house. Pulling up outside, Gene pulled a face.

"Not very impressive, is it?" he asked

"At least he doesn't list his address as 'back seat of the Fiat'," Alex commented.

Gene scanned the area.

"I can't see a car anywhere," he commented, "Thought Jimbo was driving home."

"Maybe he parks behind a fake panel?" Alex suggested, "so inspired by Nailer he'd decided to emulate him."

They got out the car and took a look at the building.

"Maybe we should call for back-up, " Alex suggested.

"From who?" Gene sighed, "Kite's shaking like a jelly with a caffeine overdose, Malcolm will be worried about getting dust on his suit and Shoebury's off playing midwife."

Alex hesitated. They didn't seem to have much of an option.

"Let's do it then," she said firmly.

They began pacing toward the building, their eyes constantly scanning for any sign of a man in a long coat for whom handcuffs held no issue.

"Try the back way," Gene hissed, slipping through the open side gate with Alex just behind. Reaching the back door, they glanced at each other. Gene noted Alex's eyes seemed to be closing a little and her head was swaying as though she was about to fall asleep at any moment. "You're not going to sleep on me, are you?"

Alex snapped to attention.

"No Guv," she said, "sorry."

Gene pulled out his gun and prepared to enter.

"Remember, Bols, this is Jimbo's personal space," he shuddered, "we don't know what we're going to find in there."

Alex shuddered too.

"Let's get this over with," she said.

Cautiously Gene reached forward and tried the handle. To his surprise it opened. He glanced at Alex, one eye brow raising, and together they tiptoed into a surprisingly large kitchen. It had something of a farmhouse kitchen appearance to it which surprised them both. A large wooden table dominated the middle of the room, on which there seemed to be a large amount of clear packages. As the two of them drew closer they saw each one contained many pills, causing Alex to comment,

"Well, it looks like Keats is sorted for E's and Wizz."

"Hmm," Gene picked up a packet, "maybe we should have sent Malcolm on this one after all."

"The question is," Alex said quietly, tiptoeing around the room, "where's the man of the hour?"

A she drew closer to the table she found herself caught up in a mammoth headrush, the world spinning around her an a bright, white light filling her vision as she closed her eyes. Involuntarily she found her head tipping back, her face turned upwards toward the ceiling and her mouth opened a little as she let out a gasp. Her legs dropped out from under her and she felt her body falling backwards, almost eternally, it seemed as though she would never stop falling.

The bright white light grew stronger, more intense and voices swam around her.

"_Mummy… Mum!"_

She tried to move her head but she wasn't sure if she managed it. She tried to open her eyes but they were welded closed with the light. She tried to open her mouth, to whisper, to cry but the only sounds she could hear were the beeping of machines.

"_Mum?"_

The voice was calling her, pulling her near. The room was still spinning and the light so intense that she felt Iight burn through her eyelids.

"_Bolly!"_

A second voice brought round, her eyelids flipping open to find herself flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and a crouching Gene. She gasped a little, shocked by her location and tried to get up. With Gene's help she got slowly to her feet and into a chair.

"What happened to you, Drakey?" Gene asked, "laying down on the job?"

Alex put a hand to her head.

"I don't know what happened," she said quietly. She noticed a glass of water on the table in front of her. "Is this for me?"

"Two seconds later and it would have been over yer head instead of in the glass," Gene said gruffly. He looked away, truing to cover his fears with rough behaviour but for just a split second he swore Alex had become so translucent she disappeared.

Alex took a sip of her water and felt a little blood rush back into her cheeks. She felt faint and everything seemed a little unreal. She knew whose voice had been ringing in her ears but she shut off her mind to it. She couldn't bear to imagine either way - couldn't bear to think of arriving home to her little girl and losing Gene, but couldn't bear the thought of mistakenly believing she was coming home and then losing Molly either. Either way the result would be cruel.

Experimentally she got to her feet. She seemed to be fairly sturdy. She looked at Gene who was staring at her with a strange expression, a mix between concern and frustration.

"I'm fine now, Gene," she said quietly, "let's check the rest of this place."

"No more backflips this time, Bols," said Gene.

They tiptoed out of the kitchen and into the hall, where a noise hit them. It sounded like it was coming from what appeared to be a downstairs toilet where someone could only be described as having a fairly serious bout of the squits. Alex wrinkled up her nose and turned to Gene with her mouth open, aghast.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, "what is he _doing _in there?"

"I'm not drawing you a picture, Bolly!" cried Gene.

The two of them waited as the toilet flushed and a few moments later the door opened and a man stepped out, only to be grabbed by Gene and slammed against the wall.

"Gene, wait!" cried Alex, "That's not Keats!"

Gene pulled back a little just as his elbow was about to have some fun in someone's rib cage and caught sight of his features for the first time.

"No, it's not," he cried, "it's Nailer!" he gripped him hard, spun him around and pressed him to the toilet door with a firm grip of his overalls. "Well that explains the rave scene on the kitchen table!" He turned to Nailer with anger in his eyes. "fancy seeing you here. You seem to be getting pretty friendly with our buddy Jimbo. Where is he? Tasting your fine wears? Running you a bath?"

Nailer seemed a little taken aback that he was not the primary focus of the two DCIs.

"I don't know," he cried, "he's not here."

"Then why are _you?"_

"He told me I could use this place as a stop gap, OK?" Nailer seemed far more nervous than the last time they met, "he's staying with family, his place was empty. Said I could take a change of clothes and a shower."

"What's with the pill party on the table?" Gene demanded.

"A thank-you gift," said Nailer. He gulped as Gene pressed him further into the wall, "erm, you're not going to pull down my trousers and sit on me, are you?"

Gene gave him a scowl.

"That," he began "is DCI Shoebury's method. And he's not here. So unless you tell me where we can find Keats right now I'm going to be taking your _teeth_ out and _pissing_ on you!"

"I told you, he said he was staying with family."

"I'm going to take a look around," said Alex as Gene tightened his grip on Nailer.

"Now then," Gene continued questioning him, "what kind of _family_ is he staying with? Pigs? Snakes?"

"I don't know!" cried Nailer as his stomach made an unearthly noise, "Oh god, I need to go back in the bathroom…"

"Prison food not agreeing with you? Gene asked, "oh that's a shame. You're gonna have fun in the cells with a bucket tonight!"

"Please… I told you, I'm just staying here. He let me go and told me I could use this place for a day or two. Said he didn't like being in such a big place all by himself so he was staying somewhere else. You can at me back to prison, throw away the key, just… _let me get back in the bog!"_

Suddenly from up the wooden staircase an almighty, ear slipping shriek came from the mouth of Alex. Jumping to action, Gene grabbed Nailer by the collar and dragged him across the hall, up the stairs and followed the anguish cries into a bedroom.

"_No"_ She cried, her eyes filled with dread and horror, _"No, it can't be! No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!"_

As Gene reached the room he saw immediately what had caused Alex to react in such a way and with a fearful gulp he reached straight for his gun and fired. Glass shattered and Alex gasped as Gene reached out and pulled her towards him, ending in a strange, threeway Gene/Alex/Nailer hug.

"It's OK, Alex…. It's OK…. It's over now…" Gene said soothingly .

"It was horrible, Gene!" Alex cried, "I wasn't expecting it!"

"I know, I know…" Gene tried to comfort her, "but it's over now."

Alex nodded a little and pulled out of his embrace. She turned to stare at the bullet buried in the wall, the smashed glass from the frame all around the carpet and the signed photograph of Andrew Ridgeley sitting in the middle of the mess with a hole fired straight through the middle.

"You saved me, Gene," Alex breathed.

"I think that was a long time coming," Gene said seriously. He could think of someone else who would be pleased to hear of its demise too.

"Aside from that, I've found nothing here," Alex told him, "looks like he's renting, but there's nothing here to say it's his. He's supposed to have been back for six month's Gene - he's hardly been in this place!"

"Except to set up his Wham merchandise," Gene said grimly.

"I told you, he's staying with family!" cried Nailer, "Oh God, where's the bathroom… there's got to be an upstairs one too, right…?"

Gene ignored him and decided to take his mind off his upset stomach with an elbow in the ribs instead.

"Alright Bols, time to find his family. Get Kite and Malcolm to look on that database for any other addresses or next of kin… anything they can find."

"They haven't got a radio, Guv."

"Give them a call then."

Alex nodded and dived for the phone beside the bed to call directory enquiries. After a few moments being set all round the houses to get to the right department, Susannah answered the phone.

"Uh… Fenchurch _West? _Weird IT room?" she said.

"Susannah," Alex breathed a sigh of relief, "We're here and _Nailer's _here… bizarrely… but no sign of Keats. Nailer says he's staying with family. Can you check the database or any next of kin, any other relatives?"

"Yes, Guv," said Susannah, "Missus Guv."

"Oh, not you too," sighed Alex.

"_Uh oh."_

A smell started to waft from Nailer's direction and a horrified Gene held him at arm's length while Alex backed away as few as she could.

"Tell Kite to send uniform to pick this one up," Gene choked, "I'm not having his stinky arse in the back of me car!"

"Ugh, yeah, can you ask someone to come and collect our friend Nailer?" Alex wafted the air, "he's got a bit of a stomach issue."

Susannah was still busy checking the database. Alex started to think some 'hold' music would be appropriate and started humming some, until Susannah's voice came on. "No, there's no family or next of kin, but there's another address for Keats. You ready?"

Alex spotted a notepad by the phone with a pen beside it. She gripped the phone between her shoulder and ear and with her good hand she picked up the pen, clicked the nib on and said,

"Go ahead."

"Right, it's number six, The Falcon Building, over in… oh, no, wait, sorry."

"What?"

"That's someone else's address." she paused. _"Isn't _it?"

"What's the matter?"

"This is the address for _another_ Keats. James Keats."

Alex froze.

"His other self," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

Alex turned to Gene in horror.

"He's staying at his comatose self's flat, Gene! I'm sure of it! Oh my god…"

"Are you sure?" asked Gene.

"Well no one else is going to be there, are they?" Alex spoke to Susannah again, "where did you say that was?"

"Over on the North side of Kettlefield," said Susannah, "on Bridge Street."

"Shit!" Alex closed her eyes, "that's in the opposite direction. It'll take us fifteen minutes a least to get there, even with Gene driving!"

"It's not far from here," said Susannah, "we can be there in five."

"No, Susannah, you…"

"No, Ma'am. Let us go. We can do this."

Alex hesitated. She glanced up at Gene, hoping he had understood her half of the conversation. A stinky Nailer still at arm's length, he stepped forward ad took the receiver from Alex.

"You there, Kite?"

"Yes, Guv."

"Think you and your Daydream in Velvet can handle this?"

"Yes, Guv."

"Good girl," said Gene, "go and get 'im for us."

He thought he heard Susannah get a little choked up on the line.

"Yes, Guv," she said quietly.

"Those had better not be tears," he commented sternly.

"No, Guv," said Susannah.

Gene gave a nod toward Alex.

"We'll be there as quick as Nailer shits," he said, and put the phone down. Chaining Nailer to the headboard of the bed he turned to Alex. "I'm not happy about them getting Keats with no back up."

"Call Simon, the hospital's two minutes from Kettlefield," said Alex.

"Right," Gene nodded.

As he grasped the radio and they made their exit down the stairs and out of the building there was a strange buzz in the air. A weird electricity that neither could identify. The climax was coming. This time, Gene and Alex hoped, the right side would come out on top.


	46. Chapter 45: Holding Back the Years

**Chapter Forty Five**

Kim was finally sleeping after pouring her heart and soul out to Simon. There had been a lot of tears, regrets and heartache as she started to come to terms with what had happened and now, finally, she had drifted into sleep. Simon had been staring at her for the last five minutes, going over in his mind the realisation that they'd encountered one another briefly before. He was torn between elation for her and the sinking despair that he would never have the opportunity to go home again.

"_Shoebury, you're needed."_

The radio caught Simon by surprise and he dropped it, scrambling to catch it before it hit the floor and woke the sleeping Kim. At the last moment he snatched it up and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Go ahead."

"We've got problems," said Gene, "Keats as been copied so many times I think we found out what that bloody Xerox machine was for in his basement!"

Simon didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"_Just checked his home address and found an unexpected surprise," _Gene told him, _"no sign of Jimbo, he's letting drug dealers squat in his house these day though." _he paused. "_well, squat and shit, anyway."_

Simon _really _ didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you need me to do?" Simon asked, already on his feet and legging it down the hospital corridor.

"_Kite checked for another address," _Gene's voice sounded strained, _"stay with me on this one. There' a young PC called James Keats who, in nineteen ninety five, is laying in a bed in that hospital you're in right now. He lives at number six, Falcon Building. That's on Bridge Street. While his flat is vacant. Mister Dead Keats Senior may well be watering his plants and feeding his fish for him."_

Simon closed his eyes as he began to realise the situation Gene was hinting at.

"Got it."

"_Kite and Malcolm are on their way but they need someone to hold their hand. They think they'll be there in five minutes."_

Simon began to pick up pace.

"I'll be there in _two," _he said and sprinted out of the hospital entrance, racing to a tax rank he'd spotted around the side of the building. There was a fair queue of people waiting for a ride so he grabbed his ID and forced his way through. _"Excuse me… excuse me… Fenchurch CID…"_

Jumping in the taxi at the front of the queue, an elderly lady caught him square on the head with her handbag.

"The youth of today!" she commented, "SO rude!"

"Hey!" Simon scowled, rubbing the spot.

"Where you going, mate?" the taxi driver asked.

"Bridge Street," Simon said "please." He paused, "and… and step on it."

Inwardly he cringed. He couldn't believe he'd said that. But in emergency situations, he supposed, clichés were allowed.

~xXx~

Susannah figured she must be looking a real state as Malcolm drive at Gene Hunt pace towards the Falcon building. She was still wearing her clothes from the night before, covered with dust and cobwebs from the basement, pale as snow from the shock of her tape and weaving a little from the alcohol. She looked more like a scarecrow after a hard night on the booze than a detective inspector, she thought.

She looked at Malcolm as he drove along, studied his features, took a mental note of every last inch. How many years had she known him? How many years had they been on and off before they finally made it official? She regretted the wasted times now.

"How are you feeing?" she asked, "I mean about… everything? About what we know know?"

Malcolm glanced a her. He adjusted his Jarvis Cocker spectacles for a moment and sighed.

"I'm still angry," he said, "I can't pretend I'm not. I don't know why they couldn't tell us at the start."

"I think I know why they couldn't do that," said Susannah, "like when I challenged Hunt and said it wasn't worth doing anything because none of this is real."

"You've changed your mind?"

Susannah nodded slowly as she stared out of the window.

"Who's to say it' not 'real' just because it's no the life either of us used to live?" she asked, "just because it's a different place and a different time?"

Malcolm nodded slowly.

"How are _you_ feeling?" he asked, "after… you know.. The tape?"

Susannah took a deep breath and stared ahead of her.

"I am just…" she sighed, "just waiting to feel better," she whispered, "just waiting to stop seeing it run through my head over and over again. I thought the drink was helping." she hung her head. "then I finished it."

Malcolm recalled his flashes of angry dogs and wished he could do more for Susannah. His heart ached a little for her. At least his had been a hallucination, inside his own head. He couldn't imagine what watching your own death from the outside could be like.

"It will fade," he said quietly, "just a little. Bit by bit. You'll find -"

Before he could finish his sentence the car was plunged into darkness. For a moment Malcolm thought he must have taken a wrong turning and gone through a tunnel but he realised even a tunnel would have streetlights. Then he noticed them; the tiny pinpricks of starlight all around them. Above, below and from every angle.

"Holy _shit!"_ screamed Susannah, "Mal, what the -?"

Malcolm tried to slam on the brakes but to his horror there was nothing to brake against.

"Susie, the car won't stop!" he cried.

"What the hell _is_ this?" Susannah cried.

As suddenly as it started, the starlight disappeared and the road resumed.

"_SHIT!"_ creamed Malcolm, aware of a huge tanker stopped still ahead of them. Once again he tried to brake but he was too late so he swerved to one side. The car spun on its wheels, clipped the tanker and barrelled into another vehicle coming from the opposite direction.

Getting a mouthful of airbag and feeling like an idiot, Malcolm tried to check Susannah's welfare. She looked shaken but otherwise intact, much to his relief.

"Susie? You OK?"

Susannah tried to batter her airbag into submission.

"Just adding to my immaculate appearance today," she muttered as the sound of car horns from impatient drivers reached them.

They both managed to force open the car doors and climbed out, looking embarrassed and worried.

"What do we do now?" asked Malcolm.

"Well we're almost there," said Susannah, "we'll have to run. We need to get there soon as we can!"

A various drivers yelled and shook their fists, Susannah and Malcolm whipped out their ID and flapped them around before taking off at great speed.

"_Don't worry," _Malcolm called behind him, "_We're police! We're allowed to have accidents!"_

Leaving vehicles and anger behind them they ran like their feet were on fire, because they knew unless Keats was stopped their feet very possibly _might _be before too long.

~xXx~

Gene moved as fast as he could towards the Fiat, his leg still giving him pain from his wound the day before. He hoped there wouldn't be a lot of running involved, but knew sod's law meant he'd probably be chasing the bespectacled one for a marathon-esque length of time. He reached the car door, reached for the key and began to unlock it but Alex's voice made him stop.

"_Gene, I don't think I can -"_ she mumbled before her eyes rolled up into her head and her body slumped to the floor.

"_Bolly!_" Gene cried. He ran to her, lifted her head a little and started tapping her on the cheeks. "Come on, Bolly, I'm not losing you now," he mumbled. He stared at her, her eyelids flickering just a little. "COME ON, Bolly!"

"Hmrf," Alex's head rolled to one side and her lips made a strange kind of questioning noise.

"Stick with me, Bols," Gene told her, slipping his arms beneath her legs and under her neck, then slowly getting to his feet, "Uh! You been putting on weight, Drake?"

He took Alex around to the passenger side, set her down for a moment then helped her into the car, just as her eyes opened and she became a little ore coherent.

"What was… what was that?" she mumbled.

Gene shut the door and rushed back to the other side.

"Bloody Tyler never did this," he mumbled, "off and back, nice an easy! Talk about torture…"

He threw himself into the driver's seat and found Alex looking fairly alert again.

"What happened?" she asked.##

"Off in outer space again," Gene told her.

Alex looked down a little guiltily. She felt as though she was on the brink of disappearing from Gene's life and could see every dot of torture reflected on his features.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Gene stared straight ahead as he started the car and began to drive away at speed.

"I'm losing you, Bolly," he said with a note of urgency in his voice.

A lump rose to Alex's throat. She could barely stop her lip from wavering.

"I know," she whispered.

"You've just got to hold on a little longer," Gene said firmly, "stay with me. We'll get Keats and everything will be OK."

Alex wasn't sure of that but was willing to do all she could to try. She gripped the sat with her fingernails, allowing them to burrow into the fabric. Anything to tighten her hold on this world. Not that she believed she could physically hold on to her life with Gene by grabbing the passenger seat of his beloved Fiat, but that feeling the material under her fingers made her existence there all the more real.

"I'll try," she whispered.

As the lines became increasingly blurred and Gene's voice more urgent, Alex longed for an easy option. In the absence of one, she just needed to make sure she would give her all to Gene and Fenchurch East until the very last second.

**~~xxXxx~~**

_**I**__**'m sorry for the short chapter, the next one is the big climax so that could take a while! Thank you so, so much for all the reviews, alerts and favourites, I can't tell you what that's meant while I've been writing this. I'm a bit behind on my replies but I will catch up when the climax is complete!**_


	47. Chapter 46: Reluctant Angels

**Chapter Forty Six**

Susannah and Malcolm's running slowed down as they approached a building that stretched to only a few stories high. To one side of the building a patch of land had been cleared where a new building would shortly be erected and around the back lay a simple stretch of grass that was occasionally used for the odd football match by local children but little else.

"The Falcon Building," said Malcolm, "this is it."

"There's a fire escape leading up the back," said Susannah, "I'll take that way. You see if you can gain entry through the main door."

"Right," said Malcolm. He began to move but at the last moment Susannah grabbed his arm and stopped him. He turned around, looking a little confused. "What's the matter?"

Susannah looked into his eyes. She couldn't explain it, but there was something niggling at her. A fear. A need to share with him one last special moment.

"Nothing," she whispered, "just…" she shook her head slightly, grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him toward her, pressing her lips softly against his as she closed her eyes. She exhaled with a gentle sigh, the sensation filling her with the courage she needed to face anything Keats might have in store.

She pulled away, a little smile playing across her lips and flickering up to her eyes. Malcolm looked a little surprised, some lipstick smeared across his mouth.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Just… just something I needed to do" Susannah said with a cheeky grin.

"I'm not sure that's proper CID protocol," Malcolm smiled.

"I've seen the Guv doing worse," said Susannah.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. They shared more than just love and friendship. They were bound by something far beyond that; a truth that few were ever privy to.

"I'll… check the door," Malcolm said eventually.

"Be careful," Susannah warned.

With one last meeting of lips, they parted to take separate points of entry in the hope that the evil being who'd brought so much pain to their team would be hiding within.

X

From a second floor window, a slight trail of smoke drifted upwards as a figure watched the two of them taking their separate paths. He gave a one-sided smile as he aimed his fingers towards the dark-haired woman in the dusty eveningwear who was rushing around the side of the building and made a motion like a gun firing in her direction.

"That's the one," he said quietly to himself, "looking forward to this. It's going to be beautiful."

He backed away from the window, checked his gun was safely concealed about his person and popped up his collar before drifting out of the door, ready for the showdown he'd spent six months dreaming about.

X

The taxi slowed to a halt as it joined an increasingly long traffic jam.

"What the hell is this? Cried Simon.

"Traffic jam," said the driver.

Simon rolled his eyes.

"I know that!" he cried, "what's the hold up? We need to get there!"

"Well there's a back route… but we're stuck between two cars now," the driver told him amiably.

"Why the hell did you bring me this way?" cried Simon,

"I didn't know there was a traffic jam, _did_ I?"

"How long 'til satnav is invented anyway?"

The driver ignored the rambling Simon and switched on the radio to see if he could find out what the problem was.

"…_Chaos on the roads today following a car careering into a tanker carrying a load of oats. The car was then struck by an oncoming vehicle. Although nobody was injured the tanker has shed its load onto the tarmac and a clean-up operation is in progress…"_

"_It's just like porridge out there on the roads!" _the DJ hooted as the news concluded.

"_Shit,_" Simon closed his eyes for a moment. He knew he wasn't far away - he'd have to continue on foot. "I need to go. How much do I owe you?"

"Fifteen pounds twenty," the driver told him.

Simon reached into his pocket and found, to his horror, that every penny he owned had gone on Robin's ring.

"Erm… you're never going to believe this," he began.

"I sincerely hope you're not going to tell me you've got no money," the driver scowled.

Simon hesitated. What was it that people usually did in these situations? The washing up, wasn't it? No, that was just in restaurants. _Damnit!_

"No," he began, "no, I Haven't got any money, but I do have…" he paused and looked sadly at his wrist. The watch. He remembered the day his father gave it to him; his one keepsake from another time, but now it held a permanent reminder to him, a two-fingered salute of the fact that he would never see his father, his sisters _or_ Robin again. His eyes turned downward. "I do have this very nice watch," he said. He took it off and took one last glimpse of it. Eleven forty eight. He closed his eyes and held it out. He had no use for it any more.

The taxi driver took it and looked it over. It clearly cost way more than the cost of his fare, and looked to be genuine too.

"Alright," he said, "nice one, mate."

Simon nodded and opened the door, then jumped out of the car. His feet began to pound away at the tarmac, then at the grass beyond it as he disappeared round the back way to Bridge Street. He only hoped that the spillage of some oats would be the last misfortune he'd encounter that day.

~xXx~

Gene couldn't have driven any faster if someone had told him there were free lattes at the end of the journey. He cast his eyes at Alex every few moments to make sure she was still there, still holding on to life in his world.

"Must be about five minutes away now," he told her.

Alex looked at him tiredly. Her energy was fading and the colour draining from her cheeks.

"Gene?" she said quietly, "there's something I need to know."

"If it's about that floater in the bog this morning, I'm not owning up to anything," Gene said quietly.

"No, it's - _eww!" _Alex made a face, "No, it's about Malcolm and Susannah."

Gene took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I shouldn't have kept them here so long," he said a little gruffly, "if I hadn't, Jim wouldn't be sticking his nose in."

"That's not true," Alex said quietly, "he'd still have found someone to taunt." she paused. "Gene, I wanted to know… why _did_ they stay so long?"

Suddenly Gene couldn't quite bring himself to look at Alex. Despite the urge to constantly check that she was there and safe, he couldn't meet her eye.

"Because," he began, trying to keep his tone neutral, "they weren't both ready. it wouldn't have been right to part them."

"Why not?"

"Because they're in love, Bols," Gene said simply, "you can't mess with that."

Alex fell silent, her eyes cast downward. It was a sentiment she understood.

~xXx~

The fire escape was old and metallic, putting Susannah in mind of one that you might find cascading down from a school science lab. It was damn near impossible to climb them quietly. Every step she climbed gave a horrible metallic vibrating noise. She tried to tiptoe up the best she could but it wasn't easy.

Her heart was beating so hard, she couldn't remember a time she'd ever felt blood pumping around her body so vehemently before. This was it, the moment the last ten years had been building up to, not that she had known it. She gripped the rails and began the second flight.

As she climbed she felt the most consuming sense of anticipation. It seemed as though the day had been building to this, little by little, and now it was about to reach a crescendo. She knew she should be feeling scared, but she didn't. She knew that whatever was about to play out was most certainly meant to be.

Another step. Two. Three. Four. Soon enough she reached the final step and came to the landing on the second floor. This was it. Finally it was time for a showdown. She began go feel around the door to find a way in from the outside, then suddenly the door opened and a pair of hands grabbed her, puller her roughly inside and gripped her tightly.

"Fancy seeing you here."

_Boom,_ Susannah's heart thumped. She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt something cold and metallic slip up the back of her top with a hand attached. She swallowed and tried to run her tongue around her dry lips but it didn't make a lot of difference.

"_Keats," _she whispered.

"Nice view from that window," he commented, "really useful when you're watching out for visitors. Course, they don't usually come in the back way."

"What do you want?" Susannah whispered, the barrel of his gun pressing hard against her flesh.

"Come for a little walk with me," Keats hissed, guiding her out of the door and beginning a descent down the fire escape, "You're not going to scream, are you? Not going to do anything stupid?" Susannah shook her head as the weapon made its presence felt again. "Good girl. This is just an insurance policy on that. Just to make sure you keep your word."

"The gun, I don't mind," Susannah swallowed, "it's your _hand _I want out of my blouse!"

"I've got a proposition for you," Keats continued as he hassled her down the fire escape.

"I'm not interested in bouncing on Little Jimbo," Susannah hissed angrily, "I'm not Kim. Go stick your mutant sperm in some other DI."

"Kimberly," Keats said a little sadly, "unfortunately things didn't end as well as I'd hoped there. She was a very confused young lady. Just wanted to experiment. I feel quite used by the whole affair."

"You _what?"_

"But no, that's not the kind of proposition I had in mind." they reached the bottom of the steps and began a slow walk around the side of the building. "I need someone strong on my side, Susannah. I'm building my team from the ground up, and there are… not a lot of applicants at Fenchurch West yet. While I wait for that to change I need a strong DI on my team."

"Work for you? I'd rather lick your armpits," Susannah hissed angrily.

"Think about it," Keats urged her, "surely the things I told you make sense? Hut never appreciated you, and he left you stagnating in this limbo land for all those years. You have a chance for a fresh start, a new life, respect. Designated first aider. Come and help me build a strong team and you won't regret it."

"Thanks but no thanks," Susannah said crossly.

"Don't be too hasty," Keats advised her.

"You have a gun up my back," Susannah began, "just pull the trigger and get it over with. Kill me. I'd rather that than work for you. I'd rather _anything_ than work for you."

They reached the front of the building and Keats looked at Susannah with a smirk.

"I'm not sure that's true," he said.

"What?"

"I'm sure I can find one reason for you to work for me."

"Not your fabulous dress sense, that's for certain," said Susannah.

Keats glanced behind him to the window of the flat from where he'd just be watching for her arrival and gave a smile.

"I'm sure there's _one_ thing precious enough that you want to save."

Susannah froze. Her heart almost stopped beating.

"Where's Malcolm?" she whispered.

~xXx~

Simon's legs had rarely carried him at such speed. He had a one track mind - all that he could think about was getting to the Falcon Building before something happened to Susannah or Malcolm. He tore across the grass where a couple of youths were busy kicking a football at each other's heads and caught the building in his sights. Around the back, he could make out a couple of distant figures making their way down a fire escape and to the ground below.

Something inside him told him all was not well. An eternal alarm began to sound. He couldn't be certain but something told him that the figures he could see were people he knew only too well.

Every pace took him closer and the figures came a little more clearly into view causing his fear to rise in his chest. _"Oh shit,"_ he cried, "No…. oh _God, _no…"

He reached for his radio as he sprinted along. This was not good, Not good at all.

~xXx~

Gene could see Alex's head beginning to loll out of the corner of his eye.

"Keep yer head upright, bolly," he warned. He paused. No reply came. "Bolly?" he turned to her as she slumped forward, her eyes closed and her body immobile. "Shit! Forget Keats, where's he bloody hospital?"

"_Hunt, come in!" _he heard Simon's voice on the radio, "_Keats has got Susannah."_

"Least of my problems," Gene barked into the radio, "I'm taking Alex to hospital."

"_Didn't you hear what I said?" _cried Simon, _"Keats has got SUSANNAH!"_

"Alex is fading, Shuoebury," Gene said firmly, "Got to look after her."

"_For god's sake, if she's going to wake up then she's going to wake up!" _cried Simon as Alex began to stir and returned to a more upright position_, "a hospital's not going to do any good! There's nothing you can do to stop it happening. But you can stop Keats from whatever rotten plan he's got for Susannah! Get the hell over here now!"_

Gene glanced at Alex whose eyes were open again. She'd caught enough of Simon's message to understand that someone was in danger.

"Go," she whispered.

Gene looked at her. He wanted to argue, to find a way to keep her with him instead, but as she nodded he realised that Simon had spoken the truth. There was nothing he could do to influence her one way or the other. That was up to Alex alone. He took a deep breath.

"I'll be there," he told Simon and gripped the steering wheel with determination.

He began to increase his speed he found the wheels skidding on something oaty.

"_What the -?"_

With a slam of the breaks and a lot of expletives he found himself driving right into the middle of a giant bowl of breakfast.

"Well _that's_ going to bloody help!"

~xXx~

It was with trepidation that Malcolm entered the flat. The door was open - that was a bad start. He held his gun firmly, waiting for any sign of the bespectacled one. He peered around the lounge he had entered. It was a little dusty in places and cluttered from where two Keatses held their lives within it simultaneously. There were elements of the Keats they knew - the ash tray, glasses case, files and trench coat, alongside mystery objects that made up a side of the young Keats they'd yet to meet - swimming goggles, movie posters and a trombone sitting in the corner.

"Where are you?" Malcolm muttered to himself, tiptoeing to the window. As he peered outside the sight of two familiar figures struck him cold with fear.

He had never been so scared in his life. Angry dogs didn't hold a candle to this.

~xXx~

"What have you done to him?" Susannah spat angrily.

"Nothing yet," Keats told her. While one hand continued to press the gun into her back, he laid the other gently on her arm. "I'm sure he's enjoying all the modern comforts of my flat. I can feel his eyes trained on us right now - _don't_ turn around," he warned as Susannah began to glance behind her, "you might have noticed you're a prisoner down. I had a word with your friend Nailer. Fascinating gentleman. Fingers in many pies. He was interested in a deal for his freedom."

"What kind of deal?"

"Made me one of those excellent exploding surprises in exchange for forgetting to lock the door." ha gave a chilling smile. "Whoops." he nodded toward the building. "Nice bundle of explosives up there. Now, there is a trigger tucked way safely in my pocket. It's up to you."

Susannah turned to stare at him, her eyes open wide and her mouth adrift shock.

"You can't be serious," she challenged.

"Do you want to put that to the test?" he asked.

Susannah recalled all the crazed actions he'd undertaken; the drugging of Simon, the intoxication of Alex and Kim, kidnapping herself the night before - the list went on.. While a part of her doubted his claim it was that manic glint in his eye, promising that he would go to any lengths for something he wanted, that won through.

"OK, _OK," _she held her palms up as her pulse increased, "I'll come. Ill come with you."

"Very wise choice, Susannah," Keats smiled, "Knew you were one of the smart ones. Come with me now and we'll get you settled. I've got a desk already earmarked for you."

Feeling a total loss of control, Susannah had little choice but to follow the direction Keats's gun was sending her in and began to slowly put one foot in front of the other, led away from peace and safety to a dark existence.

As he began to lead her away, Keats glanced around to offer a gloating smile at the man he was sure would be watching from two floors above. The thought of Malcolm watching in helpless agony at the sight of his fiancée leaving with him brought Keats the kind of satisfaction he only usually received from watching stolen CCTV footage of Alex introducing Gene to the perks of her new desk.

As soon as he looked around, however, his dream began to unravel.

X

Through the open window Malcolm lined Keats up in his sight; his gun aimed squarely at him

"Shit, _rumbled!" _he cursed.

As the two men caught one another's eye, it took Malcolm three seconds to decide to fire his gun. One second more or one second less, the outcome would have been oh so very different. One second earlier, Keats would have been in his line of fire and a bullet would have penetrated his skin. One second later and both figures would have been on the ground.

But Malcolm chose the wrong second to act.

X

Keats had no qualms about the actions he was undertaking. None whatsoever. Gripping Susannah hard with both hands he spun her around, used her as a shield of flesh and bone, and heard Malcolm's gun firing. For a moment he wasn't completely sure where the shot had gone. He waited to feel pain as he tumbled to the ground but none came. The he saw it; he blood seeping from Susannah's chest, spreading amongst the pattern of her blouse.

It was only then that he registered her agonised cry, her gasps, her terrified eyes. The scent of fear could be caught in the air. He could almost taste her death.

X

The gunshot, their fall to the ground, the sight of Keats preparing to hover over Susannah - the whole picture was one that filled Simon with cold dread.

"Hunt!" he cried into his radio, "where are you?"

"_Enjoying the oaty goodness,"_ was the unexpected reply.

"You've got to get here _now,_" Simon cried, "Susannah's been shot!"

There was a pause on the line.

"_Get to her, Simon."_

"Well where the hell are _you?"_" cried Simon.

"_Just get to her."_

Simon threw his hands in the air.

"Thanks a lot for the great advice," he cried, annoyed, and let his feet move him closer and closer to the horrifying scene as they tore against the ground.

X

"I'll have to get there by foot," said Gene, opening the door.

"I'm coming with you," Alex said quietly.

"You're staying here," Gene told her, "you're not strong enough."

"I'm coming _with_ you," Alex repeated, opening the car door.

"I'm not taking you with me," said gene. It hurt to do it but it was for her own good as he began to jog onto the grass and across toward Bridge Street.

"Gene!" she cried loudly, starting to follow him.

"Go back, Bolly," Gene yelled.

"Gene! Gene! _Gene!"_

She cried his name again and again but he didn't turn to look at her. In fact, it wasn't until she stopped calling that he began to worry and turned around. At first he thought she had gone back in the car, just as he'd asked her to, but a split second later he realised that she'd never followed his instructions before and wasn't likely to start now.

"Bolly?"

He ran back a few paces and scanned the area with his eyes. A strong sense of nausea began to build inside of his throat as a slow realisation started to dawn. _"Bolly?" _He ran back to the car and checked inside it. No sign. He ran back toward the grass and checked from left to right but Alex was nowhere to be found.

In the dampened, muddy grass he caught a glimpse of her footprints; the slight heels that indented the ground. He followed them until they stopped.

Almost as though moving in slow motion he sank to the ground on his knees, the true horror of his realisation creeping through every vein, every bone, every nerve in his body. A crushing weight of anguish fell upon his chest and crushed the life out of him. Gone; vanished, one second a part of his world and the next gone from his life.

He threw back his head and stared at the darkening sky as Simon's voice called for him on the radio again. One word grew in his mind and exploded from his voice as a final, agonised cry.

"_BOLLY"_

His scream cold have shattered a window.

As it was, all it shattered was his heart.

X

Her eyes flickered open and closed, the pain inside her chest excruciating. She tried to speak but her lips moved silently. Them there he was, the face of Jim Keats leaning over her, his wavy hair blowing as a breeze gathered speed and the glass of his spectacles obscuring his eyes just for a second.

He relished the moment. The anticipation. This was his prize; what he deserved after all his hard work and planning.

"Worked out so much better than I could ever have expected," he breathed.

Susannah's entire body trembled in his hands. This wasnt the first time she'd looked into his eyes and seen that expression on his face. Ten years earlier he'd held the power to take her life to continue his own. Now a decade on she found herself trapped by the same man. She whimpered and tried to fight him away but her body hurt too much.

"Shhhhhh, Susannah," his face tried hard to fight the smile that was threatening to take over, "it's almost over now. Almost over."

All at once she could feel his stare reaching deep inside her mind, holding her, spellbound, as she lay in his arms. Something deep inside her began to stir, to rise, to lift from within her. She could feel burning, tongues of fire lapping around her. The pain intensified as her deep, dark eyes started to flicker closed, her mind and body a whisker from letting go.

Two hands grabbed Keats roughly by the shoulders and yanked him backwards, leaving Susannah to tumble from his arms. A flash of purple velvet caught Keats's sight as he found a desperate Malcolm on his tail.

"You _bastard!" _he screamed.

"It was _your_ bullet," Keats pointed out amiably but a pair of feet clattered to a halt beside him and to his surprise he found himself on the end of a Simon-shaped fist. Simon wasn't used to throwing punches and a dreadful pain emanated from his knuckles. He hopped around., flapping his hand in the air and howled.

"Remind me not to do that again!" he cried.

Keats held his arm up to his face and found there was a trickle of blood beginning to run from his nose. He looked at Simon with a contempt that he couldn't even try to hide.

"Oh look, Mini-Hunt's back," he hissed.

"Sir!" Malcolm's voice was urgent and anguished, "she's dying…. You've got to help…"

Simon panicked as he looked from the motionless, fading Susannah to Keats, beginning to get back on his feet, thirsty for the beautiful soul that Susannah was trying so hard to cling onto. He grabbed his radio again.

"_Hunt!" _ he barked, _"Where are you?" _there was no reply and the devil was looming. "_HUNT! Get the fuck here NOW!"_

But still the radio remained dead.

~xXx~

A rush.

A swimming, floating mess of thoughts and actions and voices.

The bright, white light was overpowering once again and the sounds of voices so close that they could almost have been shouting right into her ear.

Se began to notice a physical presence; sensations against her skin - clothes, air, the feeling of the needle in her hand and the tube down her throat.

Her eyes fluttered open for a good second or so before falling heavily closed again.

"_Mummy!"_

"_Give her some room, Molly, she needs time to come round."_

"_But I saw her! She opened her eyes!"_

Alex tried to speak. She felt sure she moved her lips just a little but they seemed too stiff, as though she was out of practice at using her own body. Thetiniest sound emerged from her throat and a pair of arms threw themselves around her.

_Molly!_

It had to be.

She could smell the scent of her precious daughter around her, feel her anxious arms holding her, hugging her as closely as her situation allowed.

That sensation was one she had been longing to feel for so very many years. She opened her eyes again and there she was, right before her. _Her Molly!_ She tried to move; to hug her back, to show her how terribly she had missed her but again her body would not co-operate.

That's when the light came - a bright, torturous light shone directly into her eyes with a man in a white coat looming behind it.

"_Alex? I'm Doctor -"_ Alex zoned out for a moment. She thought he said his name was Car-Knit but that just sounded stupid. _"…been dropping the dosage to see how you managed without…" _ she really wished he would shut up. All she wanted to do was to see Molly. _Her_ Molly. The girl she had fought so far to be with again, even if it meant parting from -

"_BOLLY!"_

One long scream echoed through her ears.

There was a bleep; an urgent, dramatic bleep.

"_Mum?"_

Another bleep, and a long tone

Then a voice yelling,

"_She's arresting!"_

Caught in a terrible moment of fear, pulled between two worlds, Alex's body was at the mercy of the doctors surrounding her while her soul was at the mercy of wherever it saw fit to be. She screamed inside - _Molly, Gene, Molly, _Gene - there was no easy option, no solution, no answer to the situation she fond herself in the centre of.

"_Mum? Mum…_"

She could hear Molly's tears now and wanted to cry herself. Her mind was sobbing furiously but all her body could do was to lay and prepare as the doctors prepared to attempt their first shock, hoping her heart would restart.

She heard one last precious cry from her daughter and longed terribly that she could reach out to her, touch her and tell her how much she loved her with every bone in her body, but she couldn't do any of those things.

"_Bolly!"_

More sobs and screams, from the other side. Now it was _Alex_ who felt like screaming. _No answer… no answer… no solution… just need to…just need to get… one way… or the other…_

"_Ready?"_

"_CLEAR!"_

_~xXx~_

Blink.

One blink.

The breeze flowed around her face as she lay somewhere that felt damp and muddy.

She opened her eyes and raised one hand to block out the sun that was trying to break through the clouds. A lone bird flew through the air, cackling away like it had just heard a funny joke. All at once she began to panic. _Molly… Gene…_

She tried to roll over a little and push herself into a sitting position with her good arm, and found herself in the middle of nowhere. Well, aside from the Fiat and a sea of oaty goodness.

"_Gene?" _she called. Her hands were shaking and she felt cold and tired. "_Gene? Where are you?"_

She slowly got to her feet, mud caked down her back and across the side of her legs. She weaved a little as she took a few steps into the grassy area but couldn't see anything. Pulling her jacket around her to protect her from the cold, she took a slow walk back to the car and frowned as she caught sight of something slumped over the steering wheel.

Bending down, she gave a little tap on the window and Genes head shot up from the wheel. He turned to see who was disturbing him, opened his mouth and began a torrent of abuse. He'd reached four expletives in before he realised who had disturbed his moment of mourning.

"What the bloody-_ Bolly?"_

It was a moment like no other. A moment he'd never experienced before. A moment _no one _could have experienced. His brain couldn't fathom how things could have changed so greatly in just a few minutes, nor could it work out whether this was real or a kind of hallucination brought on by head butting the steering wheel too hard.

He tried to fumble to door of the car open but he'd lost control of his hands. He struggled again and finally threw it back, stumbling out and slamming it as he stared at the muddy, grass-stained woman of beauty before him. His gaze travelled all the way up from her shoes to her perfect shapely legs, along her delicious curves and up to her beautiful, tear-streaked face.

"Hi, Guv," she said quietly.

Gene opened his mouth - he had a thousand questions - _But where did… but how did… but when did…_

As time passed he let them all go. None of them expressed what he felt so desperate for her to know. Protective, gloved hands reached around her neck and pulled her close. He breathed in her heavenly scent, felt the softness of her hair pressed against his cheek and drifted away at the sensation of her chest rising and falling as she breathed a deep lungful of air. _his_ air. His world, and the place where she belonged.

"_Bolly,"_ he whispered one last time. Closing his eyes, he wanted to stay in that moment forever, terrified that letting go would allow her to slip away from him again, but the radio crackled most insistently.

"_GENE! Come in RGHT NOW you total and utter ignorant PILLOCK!"_

Alex pulled away a little and frowned.

"Did Simon just call you a…?" she began but the radio cut her off.

"_Get the FUCK over here! Keats is going to take Susannah…. He's going to… to TAKE Susannah…"_

Panicked eyes met panicked eyes as Alex and Gene realised the context of Simon's words. There wasn't time for questions, for wondering, for holding or for tears now. The seriousness of Simon's words was not open for debate. There was only one matter of importance at that precise moment. There was a battle taking place that Keats was just not allowed to win.

~xXx~

Malcolm's sobs were uncontrollable as he tried desperately to help Susannah. If only he'd paid attention to all that first aid she did! If only he'd feigned more of an interest just maybe he would have learned enough to help her.

"Finished your crying?" Keats cried, grabbing Malcolm by the shoulders and pulling him away from her, "Good!" he threw Malcolm to one side, his desire for taking Susannah giving him all the strength that he needed for such an action, and found his gun on the floor. Grabbing it quickly, he fired a shot at Malcolm which his him in the leg and forced him to abandon any hope of getting to his beautiful girl before Keats could relieve her of her precious soul. "Where were we?" he bent down beside her, one hand already sliding beneath her head, but Simon's foot made sharp contact with his jaw. Kicked backwards in shock, Keats gave an angry howl and tried to scramble to his feet but Simon had just about had enough.

"Think this is all so funny, do you?" he screamed, "think this is all some kind of game? Taking the pawns, working your way round the board until you take the king? Gene's not going to let you win. Not on his patch."

Keats wiped a little more blood from his face and stood with his shoulders and legs slightly apart, as though preparing to launch himself at Simon.

"No?" he cried, "where _is_ your friend Mister Hunt, eh? Where is _the Guv_ when his DI needs him? Downing a bottle, I'll bet. Shagging Alex over his desk, maybe? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but where he's needed. Sends Mini-Hunt to do his work for him."

"Stop _calling_ me that!" screamed Simon, lashing out again but Keats jumped back before he could strike him.

"_Sir!"_ wept Malcolm, "please. _Susannah_… help her…"

Simon couldn't have felt more torn if he tried. His eyes skimmed from Susannah to Malcolm to Keats and back to Susannah again. Keats stood surprisingly still, smirking at him, goading him into something he couldn't quite place. He turned his back to him. couldn't concentrate on stupid, pointless battles now. There were more important things at stake.

Slowly he walked to Susannah, her face pale and her breathing shallow. He gazed at her face, the same face he'd seen so full of eagerness and anticipation on her first day at Fenchurch East. The same face he'd seen so full of sorry and devastation as Keats had driven him to reveal the secret she was never supposed to know.

"_Oh God," _he whispered as he dropped to his knees. He saw her eyelids open again, just for a few moments. They were heavy, she was so tired. Her lips moved just slightly but she couldn't say a word.

"_Shhhhh,_" he whispered as he stared at her trembling form. Something inside of him began to stir. It was something that he didn't recognise but something that couldn't be ignored. He felt his heart beginning to flutter and his hands start to tremble, then without consciously thinking about it he slipped his hands beneath her head and pulled it gently into his lap. He couldn't explain what was happening to him; it felt as though his actions were being controlled from something on the inside that his mind did not the key to.

His eyes darted to one side where Keats was still lurking, For a moment he expected that he would be launching himself in their direction at any moment, desperate to steal the soul that he'd come so close to taking moments earlier, but instead he was staring on with a strange expression of anticipation on his face.

Simon's eyes turned back to Susannah. Hs heart filled up with burning sadness and his eyes began to spill over. A tear rolled down his cheek and landed on her face, which he gently wiped away with his fingers.

"Such a brave girl," he whispered, his voice broken by his tears, "you have done everyone proud." he paused, his fingers coming to rest against her cheek. "You've done _yourself_ proud."

As he held her something began to happen. It started as a tingling in his fingers that spread throughout his arms, settling upon his heart. A powerful energy began to surge within him, overtaking his body and mind and then focusing both upon Susannah.

Something clicked in Simon's mind. A realisation he fought with all his mijt to keep away.

"_No,"_ he whispered, _"N-no, I don't want this… I don't want to DO this!"_

But already something had started to happen.

He barely noticed the footsteps thundering toward him as Gene and Alex rushed to the scene. They froze beside him, eyes fixed on Simon as he cupped Susannah's face so gently and closed his eyes. His arms shook and his tears began to fall thickly while Susannah's eyes softly closed and her final breath left her body.

A warmth drifted from inside of her, wrapped itself around Simon and dissipated into the air, leaving his fingers tingling with its energy. Somewhere on the breeze the tiniest hint of a whisper caught his ears; a whisper that sounded like a gentle voice uttering the word 'soul', and all at once Simon's eyes opened, the shock and anguish of his action marked clearly across his face.

"_No,_" he breathed, "I… I didn't _mean to…"_

"Simon," Alex whispered.

Simon gently laid Susannah's head on the soft grass and stared at Gene and Alex with wide, terrified eyes.

"I don't want this," he cried, "I don't want to do this… can't you… can't you make it _stop?"_

Alex bit her lip, worried that a tear might fall.

"It's a _good_ thing you did," she whispered, "you helped her go."

Simon looked around to the spot where Keats had stood just a few short moments earlier. There was no sign of him now.

There was a deep torment growing inside of Simon born from a job he did not want to do and a moment that he would play out in his head time and again. The moment he set Susannah free would haunt him eternally and he knew he would never forget the moment that her soul had warmed his fingers on its way to somewhere brighter.

He stared at his bloodstained hands, then threw his head to the ground, uncontrollable sobs wracking his body with tremors and shakes. Two DCIs stepped forward and crouched by his side, each extending an arm around his sunken shoulders, knowing that only time and understanding would take away the feelings of shock and fear that were gripping him now.

But far away, Susannah's soul was grateful - forever grateful - for the moment that he set her free.

She had tasted what lay the other side. Her gratitude to Simon for saving her would go beyond any human emotion imaginable.

The flames did not earn their victim today.


	48. Chapter 47: The Golden Boy

**Chapter Forty Six**

Simon sat in the middle of chaos with his head in his hands. To one side, paramedics stretchered Malcolm into an ambulance, the bullet wound bringing a throbbing pain that did little to distract him from the heartache that crushed him inside. To the other, a sheet pulled over her face, Susannah's body lay flat on a board as two paramedics carried her into a second vehicle.

He hung his head, his face a mix of blood, dirt and tears. His anguish choked him every so often as he tried to breathe, coming out in a wild, strong sob that he couldn't tame. Just that morning he'd woken up feeling buoyed by Robin's awakening, certain that he too would be home alongside him by the end of the day. From there onward the day had been one quick succession of shocks and tragedies.

Standing a short way away Alex and Gene watched him quietly.

"It's the rank, isn't it?" Alex whispered. She took a deep breath. "DCI. That's why he kept his rank when he came back, isn't it? That's why I was able to save Simon just after I was promoted."

Gene nodded slowly.

"I'm thinking you're right," he said.

"And Keats…," Alex thought about his rank too, "…Gene, does that mean Litton…"

Gene bristled a little.

"He's one," he said gruffly, "and a twat to boot."

Alex stared sadly at Simon, his life in pieces, shattered by the events of the day.

"That was _me_ once," she said quietly.

Gene nodded.

"I remember," he said, "came in to find you with Shoebury in your hands. Never seen you shaking so badly." He glanced at Simon and nodded in his direction. "You'd better go and talk to him."

"_Me?" _cried Alex.

"I already had to give _you_ the talk," said Gene, "it's your turn!"

Alex frowned.

"Feels like when I had to tell Molly about starting her periods," she commented crossly and began to walk away but Gene grabbed her by the hand and pulled her back. "What?"

He lifted up her hand in his, turned it over a couple of times, back and forth, making sure that it was real. He looked into her eyes to make sure that she was as authentic and solid as she could be. Then he turned her hand around to look at her watch.

"Is it still ticking?" he asked.

Alex caught herself tearing up unexpectedly. She cast her eyes at her watch, just as she'd done every few minutes since arriving back in Gene's world. Slowly, she nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are we still on a countdown, Bolly?" Gene asked her.

Alex stared at Gene, her eyes a little glassy. Despite an instance of hesitation, she had to nod.

"Yes," she whispered.

Gene looked down and shuffled awkwardly. He nodded and closed his eyes.

"We'll talk tonight," he said quietly.

Alex nodded slowly. She had heard snatches of hospital life in the moments following her return to Gene's world - her heart starting again, Molly's tears, doctors talking about the strain being too much on her and needing to lower the dosage of something more incrementally. Her heart broke in two every time she thought about Molly and the one, all to brief, breathtaking hug she'd felt from her daughter.

Gene pulled her out of her thoughts by touching the side of her face.

"I think it's time for Shoebury to get that talk," he said, indicating Simon's head rising for the first time. Alex's heart sank as she stared at him. He was a broken man.

"Wish me luck," she said with a sigh.

Simon caught sight of a pair of legs walking towards him but didn't quite register whose they were until they came a little closer. He glanced up as Alex sat down in the mud beside him. She already had her fair share of stains in her clothing. One or two more wouldn't hurt. She looked at him sympathetically and put a comforting hand on his arm. He looked at her with heavy eyes.

"I don't really feel like talking right now," he warned.

"Well it's either that or the same talk from Gene with more alcohol and added expletives," Alex told him. She gave a sigh. "I know it's a shock," she said gently, "the first time it happened to me I didn't know what was going on."

"It was horrible," Simon said quietly.

"You did something _good,_ Simon. You saved Susannah from Keats. You saved her from an eternity of pain."

"But I took her _life!"_ Simon cried, "Malcolm was laying right there and saw me letting the life leave her body!"

"It's not that easy," Alex said quietly, "Susannah was _dying,_ Simon. You didn't take her life away. You didn't kill her or stop her from living in _any_ way. You helped her soul pass on to where it was _supposed_ to go, not to where Keats was hoping to take her."

Simon stared at the ground again and swallowed. He had so many questions but wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answers.

"Alex, what _was_ that?" he whispered.

Alex wished she had a definitive answer for him but even after spending ten years in this world her understanding was still vague.

"Some of us have an important job to do," she said quietly, "there are a lot of souls wandering, waiting to move on. Some of us need to give them direction. I don't know how it happens… I don't know why it happens…I wish I did. I just know that we are there, at the right place, at the right time. All you can do is to set them free."

"But I don't _want_ to have an important job to do," Simon protested, "I just want to go home."

Alex looked at Simon seriously.

"You can't go home," she said quietly, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Simon. If I could change things then I would."

"Robin," he whispered. His voice began to break as he spoke, "what's going to happen to Robin? He'll be waking up and they'll tell him… they'll say…"

Alex couldn't stop a tear from dropping onto her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away quickly.

"Robin will be OK," she said gently, "he will miss you, he will mourn you and he will never stop loving you, but he'll survive." she paused. "I'm glad we got to know him."

"He's all on his own."

"He's not on his own."

"There's no one there to take care of him. No one close to him. I was all he had."

"Your family are his family now," Alex said quietly, "they'll see he is alright. And he will make sure they are, too."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"I miss him so much," he whispered.

Alex wished that there was something she could do or say to make it better. His situation seemed so cruel.

"At least you got to spend those last three days with him," she said, "At least you got to share his experience."

"How did we come here together?" asked Simon.

Alex shook her head.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but be thankful that you did."

Simon knew he as a long way away from being 'thankful' for any part of th situation. He looked down again and said,

"Can I have some time alone?" Alex's hesitation told Simon that she wasn't sure about that. "I'm not going to do anything stupid," he sighed, "I just need a few minutes with my thoughts."

Alex still wasn't sure about leaving him alone but didn't feel pressing him further as going to do a lot of good at this point.

"I'll wait in the car with Gene," she said, "you've got ten minutes, then we're coming looking for you. And don't think we won't." She leaned forward and kissed him on the top of his head like a mother seeing off their child at the school gates, then got to her feet and slowly left him on his own.

Finally by himself, Simon stared around him. His mind offered up re-runs of the last 24 hours time and again but the ending was always the same.

He felt so stupid, so utterly and hopelessly stupid. For three days he blindly believed that he was still alive not seeing how any other option could possibly exist. He made it home last time so why should this have been any different?

How was he ever supposed to come to terms with this? How was he ever to cope with being dead, knowing that Robin was still out there on the other side of live, living it without him? Angry tears filled his eyes. He'd done so much crying but knew he hadn't even reached the tip of the iceberg. How the hell was he supposed to grieve for himself? How could he ever accept that he was never going to see Robin again, or his family? They didn't have counselling for this. There were no _So You're Dead_ self-help guides, or _Being in Limbo for Dummies _books.

The air was growing cold and a dark cloud rolling in above. He could almost feel the drizzle starting. Just right, he thought. Matched his mood. Painting his own bloody canvas, indeed.

As his mind ran over all of the people he would never see again and all the things he would be unable to do he felt a shudder travel down his spine. He couldn't place it, but it felt almost like something inside of him knew that all was not right with the world. He tried to push it from his mind and slowly got to his feet, planning to find the car before Gene and Alex came to look for him, when a slow round of applause stopped him in his tracks. He knew who would be waiting for him long before he turned around.

"_And tonight, Matthew, Simon Shoebury is going to be… DCI Gene Hunt!"_

Simon turned around slowly. It wasn't as thiough there was any doubt who he was going to find. He wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Stained with the blood of Susannah and dishevelled from their previous ruckus, Jim Keats stood with his arms folded, eyed fixed on Simon.

"Keats," Simon said quietly, "Just who I really wanted to see to make today even more enjoyable."

Keats didn't register Simon's words, or if he had done then he did a very good job of ignoring them. He stepped forward, the setting sun casting his silhouette into Simon's vision like a branding iron against his retinas.

"I _knew_ it," he said with something approaching a smile, "I knew that was why you were back here. I could see it an absolute mile away."

Simon swallowed and tried not to tremble as Keats began to encroach upon his personal space, one step at a time.

"My head's not in the right place for riddles," he said crossly, setting a firm jaw to fight the trepidation that Keats's presence threw his way.

"I'd been watching it build up over the last few days," Keats told him, "the strange return visit, your rank, the cosy chat in Gene's office." he smiled. "didn't you notice the doors?"

"What doors?"

"The doors that just opened for you?" said Keats. He vaguely mimed an opening door with his arm before smirking, _"The key to the Kingdom."_ Simon stared at him, part of him wanting to run away as fast as he could, the other half wanting to know what he had to say. "Didn't you ever wonder about that? Or about where your missing papers were? Knew you were special when Hunt gave you the talk. That's never happened before. Suddenly there you were, his little golden boy. Doing his dirty work for him. Talking to the nutcases. Covering up the starlight. Wiping their noses, patting them on the head and sending them on their way."

"I never asked for any of this," Simon said bitterly.

"But you got it anyway," said Keats, "shit happens, right?"

"Well _you're_ here so it must do."

Keats ignored that.

"Hunt always had the advantage with Alex clinging to his arm for all she's worth," he said bitterly, "two versus one, that's not a fair battle. Then the lines were getting thinner for her and she started to fade. That was my chance, Shoebury. That was supposed to me by cue to step in and make my mark!" he found himself a mere pace from Simon. "But oh no - time for the reinforcements! And of course, it _had_ to be _you._" He shook his head. "And now, she's back after all. Three against one. I don't like those odds."

"So come on, then," Simon cried spreading his arms wide, "shoot me now. Kill me. I don't care! I'm already dead! I've lost Robin, I've lost my family, I've got nothing!"

"You've got power."

"_Take _it!" Simon cried, "I don't want it. I want nothing to _do_ with it!"

"It's not that simple," Keats shook his head, "you've been chosen. You're Hunt's little protégé now." he turned and began to walk away.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" cried Simon, you need to get your arse to the cells."

Keats gave a strong laugh as he turned back to Simon.

"Oh yeah?" he raised an eyebrow, "For what?"

"Susannah's death."

"Malcolm fired the bullet."

"You held a _gun _against Susannah's _back."_

"No witnesses."

"Except me!"

"One man's word against the other's."

"You shot Malcolm!"

"He had gone crazy, trying to attack me, blaming me for his own cruddy shot! It was in self defence!"

"You drugged Kim!"

Keats let out a deep sigh and shook his head.

"You don't get it, do you, Simon," he began, "Nothing's going to stick."

"You're not made from Teflon, Keats," said Simon, "one day. One day it will."

"Oh yeah? Who's going to make it? You?" he spat, "do me a favour. You can't do anything without clinging onto Gene Hunt's shirt tails."

"You wanna bet?" Simon's anger flashed up inside of him and before he could stop himself his fist reacted in another blow to Keat's smug features. He screamed and held his throbbing hand again while the man on the receiving end of his punch staggered a little, then straightened up, feeling his jaw for any damage. He glared at Simon, no longer able to contain his bile and hissed angrily.

"You'll get yours, Shoebury. Just you wait."

"I already told you," Simon screamed, "I want no part of _any_ of this! Shoot me, kill me, get it over with! Put us _both_ out of our misery!"

"Wouldn't do a drop of good if I tried," Keats spat.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

In one smooth motion, Keats slipped his gun from under his coat, aimed it at Simon and fired. The deafening sound of the bullet blasting from the barrel caught Simon unawares and for a moment he thought the world had stopped turning as he instinctively clutched his chest, but no pain and no blood followed. It took him a good few seconds to react, still waiting for the pain to explode inside of his body but still nothing happened. After a good five or six seconds had passed Simon finally built up the courage to look down. There was no sign of an entry wound. No bullet hole through his clothes or his flesh.

He glanced up at Keats, his mouth open in shock and bewilderment, and waited for him to give him some kind of explanation, but the only explanation he received was a sneer.

"Do you _get_ it now?" he spat, "you're untouchable." he turned around as he heard two sets of feet pounding towards him, alerted by the gunshot. _"Golden boy." _he sneered at Simon, "and anyway, killing you wouldn't achieve a thing." He began to back away. "I've got _far_ bigger plans for you, Simon. Far bigger plans. You'll see." He gave a mocking laugh. "Don't worry, daddy's here to hold your hand now."

"Simon," Alex gasped breathlessly as they caught up to him, his mouth still gaping wide in shock, "what happened?"

"That time again is it?" Gene cried angrily, moving towards Keats, "time to put the rubbish out?"

Keats tried to give a sneer but backed away a little nervously at the sight of Gene.

"Can't stand around here talking all night," he said, "I've got a station to run." he gave a smile. "More than can be said for the three of you, isn't it?"

"We'll see about that," Gene scowled, cracking his knuckles in Keats's direction, sending him scurrying away like a mouse in line of the cat's claw.

Alex looked at Simon, confused and nervous. She could tell that whatever had passed between the two men had left Simon quaking inside but after all he'd been through that day she knew better than to ask.

"Do we need to try out the handcuffs on him again?" she asked.

Simon stared at Keats and slowly shook his head.

"No," he said, "he's right. It's not going to stick. Not today. But it will." He breathed deeply to calm the anger rising inside of him. "It has to. People like Keats don't deserve to breathe this air."

Gene looked down and scuffed a stone with his shoe.

"There's a lot of things people like Keats don't deserve," he said, making the word 'Keats' sound like something you might pick out of your nose, "and one of them is your energy or attention right now. Get in the car, Shoebury."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment.

"Why?"

"You've got a job to do and it isn't standing around outside_ Châteaux de Keats_." He nodded toward the direction of the Fiat. "We've got things to do. There's someone we need to see in that hospital you enjoyed visiting so much this morning. And there's a place you I need to introduce you to."

"Don't I at least get the afternoon off?" Simon asked pathetically.

Gene shook his head.

"Not today, son," he said, "but cheer up - got a treat for you."

"Sounds like we're picking up ice cream on the way home," Simon pouted.

"Better than that," said Gene, "all the free oats you can ever eat!"

Simon let out his breath, his spirits as deflated as his chest.

"Life with you is looking _more and more _appealing all the time," he said.

_**~xXx~**_

_**Thank you so, so much for all your reviews and comments! There are still about 3 more chapters to go but we're nearing the end… Yeah, I know I said that before!**_


	49. Chapter 48: Oats and Floaters

**Chapter Forty Eight**

"This is the Gene Hunt equivalent of getting an ice cream on the way 'ome," Gene told a despondent Simon as he led him into _Latte Land._

"Oh goody, _lattes," _Simon mumbled. He found himself forced into a booth where his blood and mud-splattered appearance gained horrified looks from the other customers. _"Yes, I know," _he said crossly, _"I look like the 'before' part of the Daz Doorstep Challenge!" _He picked oats off his trousers and scowled.

Alex sat opposite him as Gene, unexpectedly, offered to get the coffees.

"That's three drinks he's bought you in three days," Alex said, impressed, "you should be flattered!"

"I think I would be more flattered if I hadn't just been witness to the phrase, _Oi, Shoebury, you've got oats all over yer arse,"_ Simon told her. He paused as he played absently with the pot of sugars on the table. "Alex, what happened while I was trying to get to Susannah?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gene said you were fading. He was taking you to hospital."

Alex looked down awkwardly. She was having some difficult dealing with the aftermath of the afternoon herself.

"They woke me up," she told him "but my body wasn't ready. I disappeared and then I came back."

That wasn't a sentence Simon had expected. His mouth fell open in surprise.

"You disappeared?" he repeated. He breathed out loudly. "How did Gene cope with that?"

It was interesting, Alex noted, how over the course of the last four days Simon had started calling him _'Gene' _more and _'Hunt' _less. Equally, Gene had stopped talking about 'Shoe-boy' and started calling him Shoebury, or even Simon, more and more. From a less than affable start a mutual respect had grown between them. It might have started grudgingly but it was there none the less.

"Not very well," she said quietly, eyeing him up at the counter as he piled unnecessary snacks on his tray, "I came back to find he'd headbutted the steering wheel so hard I could practically see an indent of it on his head."

"Oh, that's not good," Simon cringed at the thought of it and wondered why Gene didn't have an almighty headache. He looked back at Alex. "How do you feel now?"

Alex's face reflected a great range of emotions as she thought about the situation. She sighed deeply.

"I feel… real again," she said, "stable. I'm not shaking, my head's not hrting and I don't feel like I'm going to vomit out of the window at any moment." She paused for a moment, the mention of vomit reminding her of certain Andrew Ridgeley memento that had bitten the dust earlier that day. "That reminds me, we've got some good news for you later…" her mind went back to the matter at hand. "But emotionally?" she sighed, "I feel worse than I have done in years. It's given me a lot to think about." she rubbed her head. "I was _home,_ Simon. Just for a minute, but I was home. I felt my daughter hugging me. I heard her voice. Fifteen years, Simon. That's how long it's been, give or take, without feeling Molly hugging me. Now I've been so close to being with her again it hurts so much more to be apart." she looked down, feeling a little uncomfortable. "And I hadn't expected how I was going to feel about leaving Gene."

Simon nodded slowly.

"You've spent fifteen years here," said Simon, "you've been with him for a long time."

"I've fought so hard to go home," Alex said quietly, "and now… Now I'm not really sure what I want." She felt like the most selfish person in the world. She had Gene on one side and Molly on the other. Simon and Robin only had each other and yet there they were, separated for good. "I want to have my cake and eat it too. I'm never going to be able to have everything I want. I can't bring Molly here and I can't take Gene to the future."

"Life sucks," Simon put his cin on the table like a disgruntled dog. "Death sucks, too."

"I can't imagine what Molly is going through right now," Alex said quietly, "thinking I was coming back and then - gone again." She shook her head, "And Gene had to go through it in reverse!"

"Shit," despite the sadness of his own situation. Simon could understand the pain she was feeing from her own divided loyalties.

"Gene's been distant, since it happened," she said quietly, "I think it gave him so much of a shock that he's terrified of getting close to me again, in case he loses me. But whatever they were doing to bring me out of my coma, I heard them say they are going to do it much slower next time. I could have weeks or months here, Simon. Maybe another year or more. I want Gene to want to make the most of it, instead of pushing me away, like he's weaning himself off of me."

"Yeah, well," Simon glanced at Gene who appeared to be threatening the lady behind the counter for offering him some oat-based products, "let me have a word. I can teach him a thing or two about making the most of every second. I learnt that lesson."

Alex smiled. It was nice to have a confidante again. She had been missing that in the last few years. There had been a lot of good men and women moving in and out of life at Fenchurch East but no one she had felt especially close to. Not since Shaz, really. It was nice to have someone to share her thoughts with outside of her relationship with Gene.

A tray of lattes and unhealthy goods arrived at the table with a thump.

"Knock yourselves out," said Gene, "nether of you have eaten all day and I'm not carrying both of you back to the car if you pass out on me." He rummaged in his pocket for some change. "Got a couple of calls to make."

He left for a moment to hassle a young man away from the payphone and commandeer its services, while Simon looked suspiciously at the lattes.

"How long exactly has Gene been on these?" he asked.

"Oh, on't ask," sighed Alex, "It's all my fault. Tried to broaden his horizons from the chipped mugs in the CID kitchen. Next thing I know he's got a loyalty card and _'a usual.'_" She took one of the mugs and began to stir it gently. "Simon, how is Kim doing?"

"Not good. She lost the baby," Simon said sadly.

Alex felt her heart drop into her stomach. While the thought of Keats reproducing terrified her, the thought of Kim going through a miscarriage brought her overwhelming sadness.

"Oh no," she sighed, "The poor girl."

Something sparked in Simon's memory and for the first time in many hours he started to seem a little excited.

"There is some good news about her though," he began, "I remembered something - I've met her before. She's going to make it home."

"How do you know?"

"She's from two thousand and three," Simon explained, "and at Malcolm's memorial service in two thousand and ten she sat next to me. I wondered why this strange woman decided to sit next to _me._ I hadn't met her yet - but I will. She makes it."

Alex gave a little smile. She was pleased that Kim had something tangible to hold onto at last. Her journey in Gene's world hadn't been easy.

"Thank you for staying with her," she said.

Simon nodded slowly.

"I think Gene was right when he said he thought I could help her," he said, "I think we've got a lot in common."

They fell into silence for a few moments until Gene joined them and started filling his latte with sugars.

"Just catching up with news from the station," he explained, "Uniform picked up Nailer. Security cameras near Fenchurch West led us to one of 'is warehouses. That's where he picked up those little free gifts for Keats. Now we've go a far bigger reason to shove him behind bars for a long time." He paused as he added the final sugar. "Nailer's arse is still going off every five minutes, apparently."

Alex froze, the cup hovering by her lips.

"_Gene!"_

"_What?_"

"Well, if that's not put me off my coffee I don't know what will," she commented as she sat it back down.

"A right case of the squits and no mistake," Gene continued, "if you listen carefully you can hear his stomach rumbling from here."

"Speaking of crappy things," Alex began, desperately trying to change the subject, "we do have _one_ piece of good news for you."

Simon sighed deeply.

"I doubt it," he said.

"That Andrew Ridgeley autograph? The one that made you and Robin turn a bright shade of green?" She paused as he nodded. "Let's just say it's not going to be bothering you any more."

Simon found, to his surprise, that he breathed a genuine sigh of relief.

"You were right, that _is_ good news."

Gene stirred his late furiously, sipped it and looked at Simon.

"You're still looking a bit green, Shoebury," he commented, "despite the decapitation of the photograph. Not got Nailer's problem coming on, have you?"

"No!" cried Simon, "I just… I just feel a bit weird," he stared at his hands, "since… you know… with Susannah."

Gene set his mouth in a firm, straight line and nodded.

"Takes a bit of getting used to," he said, "here, have some of this." Quick as a flash, he pulled his flask from his pocket and slipped a measure into Simon's latte.

"No! Wait, I-" he protested but it was too late. "_Great…"_

"Settle yer nerves," said Gene, adding a measure to his own. "How was Metal Mickey this morning?"

"Lost the baby," Simon said miserably, head in hands.

"Well, at least that's one Keats less to deal with," said Gene.

"Doesn't make it any the less tragic for Kim," Alex told him.

"You sleep with the enemy, you have to deal with the consequences."

"It wasn't her fault," said Simon, "believe me, she spent an hour just trying to work out how it even happened. He used some kind of weird mix of drugging and… semi-hypnosis or something to make her want to do _anything _with him in the first place. She's not interested in men."

"Jim Keats, every lesbian's worst nightmare," Gene sighed, slurping down half his latte, "making gay women straight since nineteen eighty three."

"The thought of sleeping with Keats is enough to turn _me_ straight," Simon mumbled, sniffing his cup and deciding not to try Gene's variation on a latte.

"I called the hospital too," said Gene, "Malcolm's out of surgery. Bullet came out nice and clean."

"Poor man," Alex said quietly, "I can't imagine what he's going through, one minute being with the one you love, the next… they've disappeared from your life."

"I can," mumbled Gene.

"Me too," Simon added miserably.

Alex felt a little guilty. She hadn't thought before she spoke. Between Simon and Robin being separated and Gene fearing she had gone for good it was broken heart central.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Gene thought silenty for a moment as he gulped down the rest of his latte. He thought about Malcolm alone in the hospital, the sadness and heartache he was going through. He thought about Simon, finding him with Susannah's dying form cradled in his arms. He took a deep breath and stood up, making a quick decision.

"Malcolm doesn't need surgery," he said, "He needs first aid." he turned to Simon. "Finish yer late. We've got _business."_

"Business?" frowned Simon, "What kind of business?"

"You'll see," Gene said, pocketing the unhealthy treats he hadn't had time to eat yet. He nodded at Simon's latte. "Drink that."

"B-but you've made it all potent and stuff!" cried Simon.

"Drink it. You'll need it when you see what I've got to show you."

"It's not that floater you motioned earlier, is it?" Alex asked warily.

"_Ew!" _cried Simon, backing away a little.

"No!" cried Gene, _"You _know what I'm talking about, Bolly."

Alex looked alarmed.

"N-not that video we made last year, in the toilets…?"

"_EW!" _Simon cried again.

Gene tried to ignore them both.

"Just finish yer drinks and come with me," he said, "before I sent you back on de-Oating duty!"

Pulling a face at the taste, Simon drank down his spiked latte and got to his feet. After the thought of a floater coupled with the Guv's personal 'video' collection he couldn't possibly image anything good was going to come of wherever Gene wanted to take him but didn't really have a lot of choice in the matter.

"Let's get this over with," he said, "but I'm warning you, anything involving toilets _whatsoever_ and I'll be happy to go back to de-oating the car!"

Alex stood up.

"Let's fire up the muesli," she sighed and followed Gene out of the café with Simon in tow.

She knew what was coming next. She just hoped Simon was ready to handle it.


	50. Chapter 49: Little Yellow Pills

**Chapter Forty Nine**

Gene pulled back the curtains roughly to reveal an embarrassed and drugged-up Malcolm in the uncomfortable bed beyond them.

"Guv? What the hell…" He tried to pull his hospital gown around him a little more closely and turned a lovely shade of pink.

"Don't do that on my account," said Gene, averting his eyes at the horror of Malcolm's surprisingly hairy chest.

Malcolm stared at his visitors, a little shocked.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Come to check on you, make sure they didn't cut yer leg off or anything," said Gene.

"How are you doing?" Simon asked quietly. He stared at Malcolm's face. His eyes were red raw and tear-tracks had been left through the blood and dirt on his face. It made Simon tear up to see that. He couldn't help but think of Robin back home, learning of his own death. That thought cut through his heart like a knife.

"Leg hurts," Malcolm said quietly.

"I mean how are _you_ doing, not your leg."

Malcolm looked down.

"I don't know, really," he whispered, "they keep trying to sedate me. Gave me a lot of pills."

"Did they give you the little blue and white ones?" Simon asked, a sad smile flitting across his face as he remembered his time in 1985.

"I think mine were yellow," Malcolm said quietly.

Gene looked a little awkward.

"Shoebury, give us some space, will you?" he asked. He slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled ou a £5 note.

Simon stared at it suspiciously.

"What the hell's that for?" he asked, "are you sending me to the pictures or something?"

"Go and see Metal Mickey," said Gene, "buy her some porn or something."

"I don't think my idea of porn and _her _idea of porn are going to be compatible," Simon mumbled but took the money none the less and disappeared out of the door.

Gene turned to Malcolm. He was surprised by the kind of fondness he felt towards the man known as the office klutz. The man who had once used a colander as a weapon. The man who, upon promotion to CID, had given himself a Jarvis Cocker makeover.

"I've spent a decade looking at that ugly mush of yours from me office window," he commented, "and I don't think I ever told you this but you're the only one who gets the sugars right in me tea every time."

Malcolm looked a little nervous.

"The last time you gave someone the _'ten years' _talk they ended up dead," he said.

Gene looked down.

"I know 'sorry's not going to help you…" he paused, "we should have been there. We were too late. Kite was one of the best. And I'm sorry."

Malcolm wished Gene hadn't said that. It was only inviting the tears again and he knew Gene didn't approve of that.

"I failed her," he whispered.

"You did no such thing," said Gene. He picked up Malcolm's soiled suit from the back of a chair and threw it at him. "Come on, get dressed."

Malcolm frowned at the muddy clothes on his lap.

"I have to stay in for a couple of days," he said.

"You've taken up enough of the taxpayers money," said Gene, "get dressed. You're leaving."

"They need to re-dress my wound in a couple of hours," said Malcolm.

"I know someone else who can do that for you," Gene told him, "Get yerself dressed. I'll wait outside."

Malcolm stared after Gene as he began to walk away. The whole exchange had left him confused and bewildered. He was already going through the most unbearable grief as well as physical agony - now he had to add strange behaviour from the Guv to the list of things he was trying to deal with. The last thing he felt like doing was getting dressed and going out of the hospital. The hospital was the place that had the drugs. The hospital was the place that made his mind numb.

But The Guv was the one who gave the orders.

Slowly, he began to take off his gown and pull his clothes back on. Whatever Gene wanted with him, he just hoped it would be worth it.

~xXx~

Simon shuffled to Kim's ward, magazine in hand. Foregoing the porn suggestion he purchased her a tattoo magazine instead. He thought she might appreciate that more. As he arrived at the door he knocked cautiously and peered around without really waiting for a reply.

He found Kim curled up in her bed, her expression empty and lifeless. She glanced up as she saw him enter and just the tiniest smile crossed her face.

"Hey," she said "I was wondering where you got to."

"We had an emergency." Simon said quietly. He walked across the room and sat beside her bed, placing the magazine on the cabinet beside them. "I got you a magazine. Hunt made one of his usual, mature suggestions so I ignored it and went for this one instead."

"What kind of an emergency?" Kim ignored the magazine completely.

"What?"

"You said you had an emergency," Kim reminded him, "what happened?"

Simon stared at Kim and the worry on her face. She'd already been to hell and back - pretty much literally - that day. He was reluctant to load more depressing news upon here but he felt so alone, so terribly alone in this world without his Robin or his family or any kind of link to his past that he found _he_ needed to let out some of the pain that had been building inside of him all day. Before he could talk himself out of it, his mouth opened and let out the words.

"We lost someone," he whispered, "…it was _Susannah…"_

He caught the look of horror on Kim's face and immediately regretted saying anything, but a plug of sorts had been pulled from his bottled emotions and suddenly he found his body wracked by loud, choking sobs that he couldn't control. Huge tears began to form and roll down his face as he flashed back to the sensation of Susannah's head resting in his hands and the feeling as her soul rose from her body, finally free.

He felt his head being pulled forward and took a few moments to realise it was Kim's hands behind the motion. She pulled his head towards her shoulder and held him there while he cried. Although she and Susannah had never been particularly close and rarely saw eye to eye she could see from Simon's raw emotion that her death must have been under circumstances that would haunt him forever and all she could think of was to hold him while he let out a little of the anguish the day had cast upon him.

Kim felt an enormous sense of guilt. Simon was the one person who had given her genuine hope; the knowledge that she would make it back to 2003, yet he had no hope left to cling to himself. She didn't know how much longer she would be in Gene's world but she knew that every day would be spent knowing her home wasn't a million miles away. As for Simon, she would just have to make sure that he had a friend to talk to when he needed to.

She wasn't the greatest at making friends. Maybe it was time to start.

**~xXx~**

**Sorry this chapter is a short one - long emotional one coming up next time -x-**


	51. Chapter 50: Get One In For Me

**Chapter Fifty**

Alex sighed and tapped her fingers on the dashboard. Having been left to take care of Gene's car she was growing ever more bored and annoyed. It didn't matter how many times she tried to reassure him, Gene felt sure a dodgy ambulance would veer off the road and wreck his pride and job.

Finally she caught sight of some familiar figures coming her way; a puffy-eyed Simon and a limping Gene trying to carry Malcolm between them. She thought about everyone's physical health - her arm, Gene's stab wound, Malcolm's gunshot and Kim in hospital after her miscarriage. Simon was the only one amongst them still in one piece.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"As you can see, the car's still in one piece," she pointed out.

"You can't be too careful with these medical types," Gene told her, "all that gas 'n air around, never know what they might drive into." He unloaded Malcolm into the car and gave a sigh of relief. "That's not an experience I want to relive."

"Me neither," Simon rubbed his shoulder, the weight of Malcolm taking its toll.

Alex looked at him, a little concerned.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

Simon tried to hide his red eyes.

"Fine," he said quietly, "hay fever, that's all."

"In October?"

Simon didn't reply. He'd done his crying now and didn't want to talk about it again.

"I'm OK," he said quietly, "honestly." He turned to Gene, "so what's the big secret? Where are you taking us?"

Gene seemed to ignore him for a moment. Either that or he didn't hear the question. He got into the driver's seat and started the engine as Simon and Alex got in too. Finally, as they began to pull out of the hospital car park, Gene glanced behind him to address Simon's question.

"To the pub," he said.

~xXx~

For ten minutes, Gene listened to Simon listing all the reasons why going to a pub was not a good idea. He stayed silent._ He doesn't get it yet, _he reminded himself.

"…and Malcolm's on pain relief and tranquilisers so alcohol could interact with them and make him really ill," Simon continued, "and Malcolm's suit is going to stink of smoke, and it's the middle of the afternoon and we should be at work! And then there's the fact that I've got no money and you'll get pissed off if I don't buy you a drink. And Malcolm's just lost his fiancée, I don't think covering up his grief with alcohol is going to do him any favours! Plus there's the -" he trailed off as Gene pulled up at the side of the road, "why have we stopped here?"

"We're there," said Gene.

"There's no pub around here," frowned Simon.

"Come with me," Gene said, opening the door.

Simon followed suit and stepped out the car.

"But there's no pub around here, there's only -" he began but Gene cut him off.

"Simon," he said, "shut your twenty-first century trap and come with me." He peered in through the window at Alex. "Bols…"

Alex gave an understanding smile.

"I'll wait here," she said quietly. She watched as the two men walked around to help Malcolm out of the car.

"Why aren't you coming?" frowned Simon, beginning to wonder exactly what kind of excursion this was.

Alex gave a distant smile.

"It's not my local," she said quietly. She looked at Malcolm and, with a flicker of sadness across her face, she said, "_Goodbye, Malcolm."_

Malcolm didn't sense the emotional tone in her voice as he gave a half-hearted wave and leaned heavily on Gene one side and Simon the other to help him move. The three men began walking along a near-deserted road that seemed to lead to nowhere. Malcolm had a vague awareness that something strange was going on but the grief, drugs and pain countered any intention he had of asking about it. Simon, on the other hand, had no such qualms and voiced at least three times that he suspected Gene had either gotten lost, gone mad or had swapped sides and was leading them straight to Keats in the middle of a dusty yard. That last suggestion had earned him the promise of a thump if he ever voiced it again.

When the car was out of sight and Simon was seriously starting to flag from the Malcolm-propping he prepared to say again that he thought Gene had gone crazy when suddenly he could sense a little static in the air; a faint buzzing and the smell that you get when you pull your jumper over your head and leave your hair standing on end.

As they continued to walk, Simon noticed that Malcolm started to lean on him less and less. He gained back a little more motion and strength in his leg and with each step he seemed to feel the pain a little less. Now the hairs were beginning to tinge; on the back of Simon's neck, but even so he still knew there was no pub down this road.

"Gene, honestly," he tried one last time, "you've got to have made a mistake. There's no pub down here. There's only a window warehouse and that wasn't even built until two thousand and fffff-_Fuck me…"_

There before them a large building stood; a sign rocking back and forth and creaking just a little as the breeze blew against it. In the dimming light of the late afternoon its windows seemed to glow with ethereal energy and a distant babble of voices could be heard through the air. Simon's eyes scanned the signage that dominated the outside of the edifice, _The Railway Arms_ boldly emblazoned across its walls.

"_What the hell…?" _Malcolm whispered. Without thinking he let go of Simon and Gene and placed almost his full weight back on his leg which was healing by the moment.

"Old copper tradition," Gene told him, "when the job's complete - time for the pub." He looked seriously at Malcolm. "And your job here is complete."

"W-what do you mean?" asked Malcolm, his lip trembling as the strangeness of the moment overtook him. He looked from Gene to the building as the door slowly opened.

"Been a hard day," Gene said seriously, "but no matter what you've been through, there's no ill the pub can't fix." he looked past Malcolm to a figure stepping out of the door, the man who always had a smile for Gene and all the lost souls he sent his way. "Nelson," he nodded to him.

"It's been a while, mon brave!" Nelson greeted Gene.

"Yeah, well," Gene began, "Drake's been the busy one lately. Thought it was about time I showed one of my men where to find the best service in town." he gave Malcolm a slap on the back. "Will you look after my man Malcolm for me? He's had a bit of a day."

"Of course," Nelson smiled warmly at Malcolm, "we've been expecting you! Lady at the bar has a cold beer standing by for you."

"What lady?" frowned Malcolm, "who knew we were coming"

Simon swallowed and found himself shaking slightly. Something felt very strange indeed. He couldn't understand what was happening but it didn't feel like a part of the same world where his feet were walking or his lungs were breathing the air.

"_Gene?" _he said quietly, a little scared.

"Oh, right," Gene cleared his throat, "this is Shoebury. You won't be seeing much of 'im, mind. Teetotal, this one."

"Or at least I was until you started spiking my lattes," Simon hissed.

"Very pleased to meet you," Nelson said with a nod and a smile that helped to put him a little at ease.

It was then that Gene noticed something strange about Nelson's head. What at first he'd taken to be a new piece of fashionable headwear he realised now was a crudely-wrapped bandage.

"You 'ad and accident, Nelson?" he asked.

"Just a little knock," Nelson assured him, "don't worry - the lady took care of that for me…"

As he stepped back, the doorway of the pub came into full view of the three men. As the light and smoke began to clear, the silhouette of a young woman sitting at the bar could be seen just inside. Malcolm's heart recognised her before his eyes and mind followed suit. With a tiny gasp of shock he found himself taking an unsteady step forward, followed by another then a third. With each step the pain began to lesson, his wound disappearing and fading away.

Inside the pub, the young woman came into clearer focus now. No longer just a silhouette he saw her beautiful, wavy, dark brown hair, her warm and compelling smile, the sparkle in her eyes, and a large white bandage crudely wrapped around her own chest.

"_Susannah?"_ Malcolm breathed, "but how -?"

He glanced back at Gene and Simon.

"Job done," Gene echoed his earlier words.

Beside him, Simon's hand rose to his mouth involuntarily and he gave a quiet gasp as the reality of the situation began to sink in. His lips moved a little as he tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. He felt his eyes prick with tears yet again as the enormity of what he was learning settled upon him and he gazed at the sight of the woman he'd held in his hands just a few hours earlier as she passed away smiling back at them.

"You'd better get in there," Gene told Malcolm, "before someone else tries to pick 'er up. I've got friends in there who'll be sniffing around someone like Kite the second they catch whiff of her perfume." He paused and turned to Nelson. "How _is_ Ray these days?"

"Still keeping a spare seat for you," Nelson told him.

Gene nodded slowly.

"Might be a while yet," he said. He turned back to Malcolm. "Go on, then," he said, "you can't keep a lady waiting."

Malcolm hesitated for the briefest moment, He felt his heart beginning to race and his legs turned to jelly inside his velvet, purple trousers. He took a step or two towards the pub, then turned around.

"Guv?" he began, "….thank you. For everything."

Gene nodded.

"Get one in for me, an' all," he said "and Shoebury's on lemonade duty, right?"

Simon could hardly speak. The whole situation had overwhelmed him and he couldn't get his mouth in gear. Finally, he licked his dry lips and turned to Malcolm.

"Before you go," he said quickly. Malcolm stopped as he was about to take another step towards the pub.

"Yes, Sir?"

Simon hesitated.

"This…. This has been _really_ bugging me" he began with a nervous laugh, "but what _is_ your surname?"

Malcolm looked a little blank.

"Malcolm," he said.

"No, your surname.

"That's right. Malcolm."

"Your name s Malcolm _Malcolm?"_ Simon frowned.

Malcolm nodded.

"My mum and the registrar had a bit of a misunderstanding when my birth certificate was produced," he said, "…I was originally supposed to be named Tarquin."

Simon pulled a face to prevent himself from laughing, and managed to turn a snicker into a cough.

"Well," he said quietly, "I guess… this is goodbye, _Malcolm Malcolm."_

Malcolm nodded and gave one last smile.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

Slowly he turned around and let his feet take him toward the doors that beckoned him. Simon and Gene watched as he took a brave walk toward the pub and stepped inside eternity.

As Nelson followed him and closed the door behind him, the two DCIs caught one final fleeting glimpse of two lovers, reunited, their arms enclosing one another in an embrace that would last as long as heaven would allow.

The doors closed. The static died. What was once right there before them, now gone in an instant.

Simon stared into the dusty, empty space and swallowed so hard that Gene could hear him gulp. With tears threatening to spill over, he took a deep breath.

"_I get it now," _he whispered.

Gene turned to him. He studied the expression on the man who had been through so much in such a short space of time. He nodded slowly. He could see that.

"I couldn't have told you," he said quietly, "words… they're not really meant for this kind of thing, You 'ave to _see_ it."

Simon nodded, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the pub had been a moment earlier.

"Malcolm's job wasn't over until _Susannah's_ was," he whispered, "they were a pair. They needed each other. They were both here to learn and grow and live." he looked at Gene, completely new respect dawning upon him. "You helped them."

Gene stood back a little and spread his palms.

"That's what I do," he said quietly, "that's what _we_ do."

Simon swallowed again. He was trying to fight the tears but it was getting harder.

"All those people," he whispered, "all those people in the pub… you and Alex…."

"No, not Alex," Gene interrupted, "she's…. well, she's got her _own_ local." He noticed Simon frown curiously at him. "it was before your time, son. _Luigi's_. It closed not long before you arrived the first time. Had to disappear to… _reappear. _If you know what I mean."

Simon wasn't sure he did, but nodded anyway.

"And me?" he asked.

"You'll have a place," Gene told him, "it'll happen. Probably some poncy fruit juice bar, knowing you." he paused. "Different doorways. Different steward. All lead to the same place inside."

Simon bit his lip.

"Heaven?" he asked.

Gene looked a little awkward.

"That's a bit of a strong word for me," he said, "we just call it a better place. What could be better than somewhere with free beer and a saloon bar?"

Simon looked back at the empty space one last time. His mind went over the events of the day - _the showdown with Keats, finding out that he was dead, helping Susannah to pass over... _He almost shook from the magnitude of the day.

"I didn't want this," he whispered, "when it happened… with Susannah… I would have done anything if you'd taken it away from me."

Gene looked at him seriously.

"And now?"

Simon took a deep breath.

"I don't know," he said quietly, "but I do know now what you do. And I know why it's important."

Gene made sure Simon looked him squarely in the eye.

"You came back here for a reason," he said, "you're needed."

Simon hesitated. Maybe he was. He knew it would take a long time for him to truly believe that. But every time he thought about the sensation as he helped Susannah's soul to be free, and the sparkle in her eyes as she waited for Malcolm to join her, his importance to the situation seemed a little more true all the time.

"I think I need one of your special lattes," he whispered, trembling ever so slightly.

Gene couldn't help but feel buoyed by Simon's comment.

"_Now _you're learning," he said. He gave Simon a slap on the back unexpectedly which scared seven shades of hell out of him, then turned him around to take a slow walk back to the Fiat. "I'll make a real detective out of you yet, _Shoe-boy."_

Simon glanced at Gene sideways. He hadn't heard that name for a little while. Despite himself, a flicker of a smile graced his expression.

"This could be the start of a beautiful friendship," he mocked.

"Not unless you get the first round in tonight," Gene told him sternly.

**~xXx~**

**From the other side of Eternity…**

She waited nervously at the bar, a glass of wine in her hand and an anxious expression across her face.

"_He'll be here," _the friendly but concussed barman told her.

Susannah smiled, although her smile showed her nervousness.

"I hope so," she said. She paused. "How is your head?"

Nelson backed away slightly. One crudely-applied bandage was enough.

"Good as new," he told her.

"Good," said Susannah. She glanced around at all the people with bandages, slings and dressings. She'd certainly been busy since she'd arrived.

How she got there was something of a mystery to her. She remembered Keats pressing his gun into her back and marching her around the building. She remembered fear and a threat to Malcolm's safety. She remembered agreeing to something she didn't want to do and then she remembered being grasped in Keats's evil hands, turned around and used as a shield against a bullet meant for the devil personified.

There were moments of pain, blood and terror. She remembered wishing she'd brought her first aid kit with her, before succumbing to the pain and collapsing to the ground. She remembered the evil sneer looming over her; then moments of fighting between three men while her soul hung in the balance.

Then she remembered Simon, his words were so soothing. She remembered feeling an enormous release; letting go, escaping the confines of a broken and pained body to float freely into the ether.

And then -

"_What can I get for you?"_

On the stool, waiting to be served.

It made very little sense to her. Neither did the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces around her. All those who had worked alongside her and disappeared so suddenly, all those who had died during their brave work with CID, all there beside her.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the blinding light of life as Nelson opened the door and stepped outside She felt her heart jump into her mouth, trying to escape her as a long scream of anticipation and joy. She could see figures outside. The light made it difficult to pick out their features but as one slowly walked toward her she knew instinctively who it was.

"_Malcolm,"_ she breathed.

There were moments of chatter from outside, voices, goodbyes and then the men; the one she loved walking purposefully towards her.

All at once she flew from her stool, unable to contain herself. Her arms flew around his neck and his gripped her in a warm and loving embrace. She heard him whisper her name over and over again as he held her and felt his tears stinging her neck.

Finally, when time had passed and Malcolm's grip on her slowly released, she took a step back to look at him properly.

"_Mal," _she whispered.

"Susie," Malcolm held her hands and stared at her, afraid she would disappear if he looked away, "oh _god, _I never thought I would see you again."

"I'm right here," she whispered.

"I saw you die," Malcolm choked back a tear.

"But it's OK," Susannah urged, pointing at her bandage, _"look _- I gave myself first aid!" she pointed to Nelson as he returned to his usual place behind the bar, "_and_ to him… when my first aid box flew out my hand and hit him on the head…" she glanced around, "and to _this_ guy… _hey, Sam_…" she looked behind her as a man in a leather jacket turned around at the mention of his name, "how's that finger?"

A slightly annoyed Sam, who had been forced into accepting the application of a tourniquet for his paper cut, gave a strained smile and lifted his glass.

"_Better, thank you," _he said.

"And to _all these people_…." Susannah waved her hand to indicate myriad men and women with bandages, plasters and other assorted medical paraphernalia.

Malcolm stared at Susannah. There was a telling twinkle in her eye. She might have died - twice over - but she was more alive than ever, because they were together.

"I love you," he told her with a gentle laugh.

Susannah's heart skipped at beat at those words. That was all she needed to know. With Malcolm beside her she knew she would be happy for eternity.

She slipped her hand into her pocket to get some money.

"Let' get one in for the Guv" she whispered.

Malcolm nodded.

"For the Guv," he echoed. Thy had a lot to thank him for.

They hoped that one day he would make it through the doors of the Railway Arms so they could tell him so in person.


	52. Chapter 51: Hitting Refresh

**Chapter Fifty One**

Alex stared out of the window, her mind skimming through a hundred different moments of the day. She rested her feet up on the dashboard, a sadness settling upon her heart as she thought about never seeing Susannah or Malcolm again. She understood now why Gene had held onto Chris and Ray for so long. They had a job to do, of course, but that didn't stop friendships from being formed along the way.

She caught sight of Gene and Simon walking slowly back to the car and quickly put her feet back down, brushing off a little dust and mud from the dashboard. She knew Gene wouldn't be impressed if he found her footprints all over the inside of his precious car.

She realised that she felt more 'real' than she had in weeks. Maybe even months. Although her strange symptoms had only started a couple of days earlier she'd been starting to feel a little less stable in her footing for some time. Being pulled from Gene's world have given her a rude wake-up call. Inside her, she almost felt as though she could just go on forever in this limbo state, have a full life with Gene then go back to Molly as though nothing had ever happened. Now she knew that the end was near.

She glanced at her watch. It was as much her enemy as it was her friend. _Tick, tock, tick, tock. _She had treasured for so long the sound of it ticking, knowing that with every click of the second hand she was one second closer to getting home to Molly. Now she saw it as a double-edged sword with every tick taking her one second closer to losing Gene.

Her thoughts were disturbed as the bulk of Gene appeared in the car beside her.

"Malcolm get there alright?" she asked quietly.

"Jarvis Cocker delivered to the pub, no problem." Gene confirmed.

Simon slipped into the back seat, looking a little pale.

"How are you?" Alex asked.

Simon wasn't sure himself. His head was in a mess; a huge, jumbly mess. He needed some time to work through that. Until then, there wasn't much he could do but to try to keep a level of coherency about him.

"I'm OK," he said quietly.

Gene frowned.

"You 'ad yer feet up 'ere, missus?" he asked, indicating a speck of mud Alex had missed.

Alex flushed and cleared her throat.

"Of course not," she lied.

Gene roughly polished the dashboard with his sleeve.

"Some people have got no respect for cars," he commented, "I found a bloody suspicious looking stain in the back the other day, an' all…"

Simon recalled Kim's admission about Keats and Gene's car. He coughed and spluttered for a moment, trying to cover it up by pretending he had a tickle in his throat, and scanned the backseat for the stain Gene was talking about. When he couldn't see it he realised he must be sitting on it.

'_Oh, UGH!' _his mind screamed, _'Keats sex stain! Keats sex stain! Under my arse! Ugh!'_

Alex turned to Gene.

"Did you see Nelson?"

Gene nodded.

"Someone's been giving 'im first aid," he commented.

Alex spluttered a giggle before she could stop herself.

"I wonder who that could be?" she said.

Simon leaned forward and asked,

"Alex? What's _Luigis?"_

Alex glanced around, a fond smile across her face.

"That's where _I_ take them," she said quietly, "that was _my_ local. When someone reaches the end of their journey, _Luigi's_ appears for me and Luigi is the one who helps them on their way."

"Who's Luigi?"

"Cooked the best steak and chips pizza in the country," Gene told him.

Simon wasn't sure that was a particularly helpful description of someone who allegedly helped Alex to allow souls to move on but he wasn't sure he wanted to press the matter any further.

"So when you go inside…" he began but Gene cut him off.

"It doesn't matter whose door you go through," he said, "when you're in there, it all joins together. Everyone will be there. All the people you've known."

"As long as they've gone the right way," Alex said quietly.

The three of them fell silent for a moment, the very real threat of Keats taking someone at any time weighing upon their minds. Eventually, as time began to shudder and shift around their shoulders, Gene started up the car and told them,

"That's enough metaphysical bollocks for one day. Back to the office, then off for a real drink. Why should Malcolm get all the fun?"

As Gene stepped on the accelerator and began to speed away, Simon frowned with confusion.

"The _office?" _he repeated, "at Fenchurch _East?"_

"Where else?" said Gene, "not setting foot inside Keats's walk-in wardrobe."

"B-but it was blown to pieces," Simon frowned, "are they going to let us in?"

Gene focused on the road ahead.

"Just grab an 'ard 'at and stick with me," he said, "you'll see."

~xXx~

Simon gazed around him, mouth open wide as he followed Gene through the corridors and into CID. Where just a few hours ago chunks of building had been missing, many workers were in the midst of rebuilding the damage. Men in hard hats, bricks, scaffolding and machinery were scattered everywhere. Simon pulled his jacket around himself, the day suddenly colder and darker than he swore it had been a few minutes earlier.

"I don't understand," he whispered, "how could all this have happened in just a few hours?"

Gene picked up a newspaper that one of the workmen had been reading on his break and passed it to Simon.

"It's not been a few hours," he said, "it's been a few weeks."

Simon took the paper, thinking Gene was going crazy again, and scanned for the date. When he spotted it he gave an involuntary gasp.

"Monday the _twentieth of November?" _he whispered, "that's…. that's not possible!"

"We shifted two _years_ when you first arrived in eighty five," Alex told him.

"We've hit the reset button," Gene said with a sigh, "time to start again."

"But how can time just _change?" _cried Simon as a young red-haired female DC came up to him with a large, padded envelope.

"Excuse me, sir?" she said, "this came for you in the post today."

Simon took the package suspiciously and glance from Gene to Alex. He wondered momentarily if there was an exploding surprise from Nailer inside but neither seemed concerned so he opened it curiously and slipped a wooden prism from within. He stared at it, turned it around in his hands and felt a strange sensation choking him in his chest as the breath was taken from him. Silently, he passed it to Alex, who looked at it then glanced at Gene and passed it his way.

_DCI Simon Shoebury_, it said, _Hi-Tech Crimes Division._

"Population explosion," Gene began with a sigh, scratching his head, "there are more people in the world… more _coppers_ in the world… and more trouble in the world. More of them need help. More of them need to work through their problems. Couldn't do it on me own any more."

"So first, _I_ was needed here," Alex continued for him as Simon took the name block from Gene.

"And now it's my turn," he said quietly.

Gene nodded.

"We're moving on," he said, "new crimes. New departments. New blood."

"But… but why _me?" _Simon shook his head slowly, unable to fathom out why he of all people had been chosen, "there must be hundreds of others who could do this."

"None that have the heart for it," Alex said quietly.

"You've been here before," Gene told him, "you understood. And you killed Keats in yer own time. That's about the biggest indicator for promotion you can get in this job."

The young DC approached him again.

"Sir, the builders say the electrics will be restored to your office by tomorrow."

"My office?" Simon frowned.

Gene shrugged.

"Comes with the job," he said. He nodded to the DC as she wandered away. "She must be one of yours."

Simon's head was swimming. This was all a bit too much to take in.

"What happens to Kim?" he asked, "she just had a miscarriage this morning… now it's one month later?"

"Kim knows where she's from so for her the change of time is exactly the same as it was for us," Alex told him, "she'll think no time has passed at all. Someone will have to explain to her."

"Is she still in hospital?" Simon asked.

Alex nodded.

"For her, physically, only a few hours have passed. As far as the hospital is concerned, she was admitted on the twentieth of November."

"This is making my head hurt," Simon mumbled. He spotted someone across the room who he wasn't pleased to see. "Oh bloody hell, what's _he_ doing here?"

"Who?" asked Gene

"That _git!"_ Simon cried, "the fake Robin! The prat who kept following you up to CID!"

Gene followed Simon's glare to a uniformed gentleman at the other side of the room.

"Oh joy above!" he cried in anger, "just the man to brighten the day!"

Alex tried to mask a giggle.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news but it looks like he's been sent over to deal with your admin, Guv!"

Gene narrowed his eyes at the interloper.

"Brilliant! This is a day to go down in the record books! A barrel of laughs from start to finish! What's next? Me old P.E. teacher turning up to give me a bollocking for bunking cross country running?"

There was a crash the other side of the office and one of the few remaining doors slammed as a man of Simon's age or there about burst in, his foot jammed in a tin of paint.

"_First you destroy my office and paint it shitty colours,"_ he cried, _"then I find all my officers have disappeared, and then I stick my foot in your bloody paint pot which was - can I point out - left laying around with no regard to health or safety?"_

Gene folded his arms and gave a quiet smirk. He turned to Simon.

"I think this one's yours."

Simon looked at Gene in horror.

"_Mine?"_ he cried, "how do you know?"

"Gut feeling," said Gene.

"He could be yours!" Simon protested, "or Alex's!"

"Ten quid says he's yours," said Gene.

Simon reached into his pocket.

"You're on," he said, then paused. "Shit, no money."

The man began to wallop his way towards them, one foot metallically clomping on the floor with the paint pot still held fast.

"Alright," he addressed the three DCIs, "perhaps one of you can kindly tell me what the _hell_ is going on and what has happened to my damn _office?"_

"Yer name?" Gene asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What's yer name?"

"What's _yours?"_ the man countered, increasingly anxious.

"Excuse me," Simon interrupted, "can we see some identification please?"

"With pleasure," the man said crossly, reaching into his pocket and pulling forth his ID. He held it out to Simon who took it and read.

"_DI Peter Vickery,_ _CID: Hi-Tech Crimes Division." _he paused, "Shit."

Gene smirked.

"Drinks are on Shoebury tonight," he said.

Alex glanced at Gene.

"I thought we were talking tonight," she said quietly.

Gene tried to ignore the subject. The closer he got to talking about it the less able he felt ready to face a discussion about losing Alex. He focused his attention on the newcomer instead.

"You'll be wanting to speak to your DCI here," he said, indicating Simon.

"_DCI?" _Peter repeated, _"I'm_ the bloody DCI around here!"

Gene almost jumped for joy. Could this be any more satisfying? Oh, he was going to enjoy watching Simon deal with this.

"Go on, Shoebury," he smirked, "he's all yours!"

Simon scowled.

"Thank you, _Hunt,_" he said. He turned to Peter. "You'd better come with me."

As he began to lead Peter away, Gene grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Remember, Shoebury," he began, "you can't say a word. This is all real. Understand?"

Simon's heart began to sink. He remembered his own arrival in 1985 and the frustration at not being believed. He longed to tell this man that he knew what he was going through; that he had been through it too, but he understood why that wasn't possible. It was simply not an option.

"Of course," he nodded, and set off to try to placate the new arrival.

Alex looked at Gene. Now the distractions had gone she needed to address his earlier comment.

"Can I have a word, Guv?" she asked seriously.

Gene glanced at her anxiously. He wasn't sure he was ready to face this conversation yet.

"Haven't you got paperwork in your own department to organise, Drake?"

Alex began to frown. This wasn't the kind of behaviour she expected from Gene. Maybe the Gene of old, but for the last decade their relationship had been fairly simple in nature, nothing complicated or angsty, no games, no messages hidden in what they were trying _not _to say to one another. The sudden coldness that Gene was sending her way came as a shock.

"_Now," _she said firmly, and marched to his office before he could stop her. Inwardly he groaned. It wasn't just his team who had been through a lot that day and he wasn't mentally up to this conversation yet. With a sigh he followed her.

"What's this about?" he asked, already reaching for the bottle.

"You know what this is about," Alex said quietly, "Gene… why are you being so cold?"

"It's November," Gene shrugged.

"You know that's not what I mean," Alex said crossly, "ever since I…" she trailed off. How on earth was she supposed to label her experience? _Fading out? Disappearing? Waking up? _"Ever since I left here and came back, you've been treating me differently."

Gene looked down.

"It came as a shock, Bolly," he said, pouring himself an extremely large scotch, "I knew it was coming. Known it for years. But I still wasn't expecting it." he paused as he mentally added that he hadn't been expecting how traumatic her awakening would be, either. He remembered Sam blinking out and in from the world. He recalled when Simon's body vanished in an instant from his first time around. He could recall a couple of other occurrences of people disappearing and they'd all happened practically instantaneously.

But Alex? Her return to the real world had been long and drawn out, full of pain and nausea. Watching her go through that had broken Gene's heart. So had watching her slip in and our of consciousness. What was so different about Alex to the others?

"We both knew it was going to happen one day, Gene," she said quietly.

"That didn't make it any better when it actually did," he told her.

"We always knew we were on borrowed time," Alex reminded him.

Gene slumped into his chair.

"I know," he said quietly.

"And if you're regretting not making the most of it…"

"What d'you mean?" frowned Gene, "we've had ten bloody brilliant years, and a few flirty ones before that."

"_Ye-e-e-es," _Alex said slowly, "but we've been looking over our shoulder the whole time, just waiting for it to end."

"Only time you were looking over your shoulder was when we were doing it over your desk…" Gene began but Alex cut him off.

"You see?" she cried, "every time I try to talk to you about us and our situation you turn it into something flippant! Sex and jokes - is that all I am to you?"

"No, of course not," Gene shook his head but Alex hadn't finished.

"It's not like I ask for much," she said, "maybe your name on the lease instead of getting post addressed to _Gene Hunt, Back Seat of the Fiat, Care of Alex Drake_. Maybe just _one_ ring on my finger, even of we never get to make it official with the gold band to match. Maybe just forgetting we're on a countdown and trying to build a life _together_ instead of just alongside each other."

"We've been in each others pockets for years!"

"But never with anything concrete! No sign of commitment, no…" she trailed off and put her head in her hand.

"You know how I feel about marriage," Gene huffed.

"You're not the only one who didn't find married life a breeze," Alex reminded him, "I'm divorced too. We learn from our mistakes."

"Yeah, and I learnt not to get married!"

Alex began to breathe heavily. A lump gathered in her throat and made it hard for her to breathe deeply enough to get the oxygen she needed into her body. She looked at Gene angrily.

"Have I been wasting these last ten years with you?" she asked, "did you ever actually want a relationship? Or just a place to park your backside at night?"

"Have you quite finished, Bollinger Knickers?" Gene cried.

"No," said Alex, "I'm tired of holding my tongue about it just because you're a commitmentphobe!"

"You don't get it, do you?" cried Gene, "You think I'm not committed to you? You think I'm afraid of spending the rest of my life with you?" He paused, looking at her nervous but expectant face. "It's because -" His words failed to leave his mouth. He tried to tell her the real reason but it jammed in his throat. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't say it. He couldn't be responsible for Alex making a decision that he desperately wanted her to make. He hung his head. "No, you're right," he lied, "I'm scared of the 'C' word. Can't do it." He took a large gulp of his scotch and drew in a sharp breath. "Maybe you'd be better off spending yer last days here without me. I can't give you what you want."

Alex stared at him, her ears ringing with words she'd never expected to hear. She tried to swallow to block the tears already stinging her eyes.

"And that's it, is it?" she whispered, "all these years, and that's how you want it to end?"

"I can't give you what you want, Bols," Gene said quietly.

Alex stared at him, waiting for him to tell her it was a joke, waiting for him to take it back, waiting for him to change his mind - just wiping out the words he'd spoken that had ripped a hole through her heart. But there was no retraction, no apology and no way of changing what had been said. She hung her head.

"If that's how you feel," she whispered, "then maybe we should call it a day."

Gene stared at her and forced himself to nod.

"I think we should," he whispered.

Alex swallowed again, her lip trembling and her voice wavering as she said,

"I'll pack your stuff up tonight. I'll leave it for you in you office tomorrow."

"I'll pick it up," said Gene.

"Don't bother," whispered Alex. She turned and walked quickly out of his office, across to Kim's desk and stood there with her back to Gene, her hand resting against the desktop as though to keep her upright while her world crumbled around her.

She didn't even glance up as Gene exploded out of his office like a volcano erupting and burst through the doors into the corridor beyond CID, glass in hand. He felt an enormous sense of anger; not toward Alex but to himself, to the situation and to the horrible knowledge that he'd told the most awful of lies to her.

He initially tried to punch a wall but found the workmen hadn't finished repairing that particular bit yet and his fist went straight through the plasterboard. Cursing, he sank to the floor and sat there, nursing his scotch, until Simon came by looking a little haunted from his first talk with a wandering soul under his care. He glanced at Gene an did a double take as he saw his expression.

"Blimey! Who died?" he cried.

"Everyone," Gene mumbled.

Simon gave a short sigh.

"Fair enough," he said.

"Where's the new boy?" Gene asked.

"Swearing at Poirot and promising to sue us for every penny we have for what we've done to his office," said Simon.

"Sounds rather reminiscent of a DCI not far from where I'm standing," Gene commented.

Simon snorted a little. It still hurt to think about his first arrival in Gene's world.

"Don't sit here too long, you'll give yourself a chill," he said, sounding like someone's mother and headed into CID. Gene turned back to his glass and took a long drink from the potent liquid within. If he looked closely enough he swore he could see Alex dancing in the whiskey. A moment later he was surprised to see Simon duck back out of CID looking confused and concerned.

"Uh, Gene," he began, "Alex is crying."

A horrible pang of guilt settled upon Gene's heart.

"Is she?" he said quietly.

Simon hesitated.

"You don't know anything about it," he asked, "do you?

Gene drank the last mouthful of scotch and took a deep breath.

"We're over," he said quietly.

Simon felt as though someone had just told him the moon was made of poop.

"What?"

"Me and Alex," said Gene, "it's over."

"It can't be over."

"It is."

Simon frowned. He looked around.

"But I was only gone five minutes!" he cried, "you've been together ten years! You can't undo that in five minutes!"

"It was a long time coming," lied Gene.

"No it wasn't," frowned Simon, "what the hell happened?" he waited for a response but none came. "Gene?" He paused again. "Alex said… you were being cold towards her, after she disappeared."

Gene exhaled loudly.

"She did, did she?" he said quietly.

"Is that what this is about?" Simon asked.

Gene finally met Simon's gaze. He stared at him in silence for several moments, then finally he licked his dry lips and took a deep breath.

"You know I gave up smoking a few years ago?" he said.

Simon hesitated.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I just stopped. Went cold turkey. Never lapsed. Never had a problem." Gene paused and stared into the distance. "Today, I thought I was going to have to go cold turkey on Alex."

Simon felt his heart starting to sink. He could see where this was going.

"Oh, god," he sighed, sinking to the floor next to Gene.

"I watched her fading in and out," Gene continued, "It was 'orrible. Never seen anything like it. _You_ never did that! _No one's _ever done that before. Then I thought I'd lost her."

"But she's still here," Simon reminded him.

"For now," said Gene, "she'll be gone again in a couple of weeks. And I'll have to watch her going through all that… fading malarkey bollocks too." He rubbed his head. "She can't even do the decent thing and make a quick exit, has to string it out to make it worse!"

Simon frowned.

"Gene, have you ever considered that the reason she faded in and out instead of ust disappearing was because she was fighting to _stay? _For _you?"_

Gene glanced at Simon but looked away again.

"It's to do with the medication," he mumbled.

"No it isn't," Simon was sure of that, "it's cause she's the only one who hasn't _really_ wanted to go home. _I _wanted to get back to Robin. Then when Robin was here, we _both _wanted to get home to our own time, together. Kim's desperate to get out of here. All the other people who have been lucky enough to get home were anxious to make it. But Alex?"

Gene tried to take a sip of scotch but remembered he'd already finished it just as the tiniest drip fell onto his tongue.

"Alex has got Molly," he grunted.

"On one side, yeah - and on the other side there's you," Simon ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "The decision's not that easy for her."

"Blood comes first."

"_Alex _wasn't so sure about that," Simon said. He noticed Gene's eyes flickered to him for just a moment. "She's spent fifteen years with you, Gene. _Fifteen years! _Yes, her daughter means the world to her but she hasn't seen her in a decade and a half. She's been with you every single day of that time. Yes, if this was an everyday situation her daughter would come first, but it's not. And she loves you."

"She thinks I don't want commitment," Gene said crossly, "She thinks I don't want to spend my life with her. She's got no idea."

"Well what _do _you want?"

"I want it too much!" Gene snapped.

"I don't understand."

"I promised myself a long time ago that, no matter what, I would _not_ stand in the way of Bolly and her girl," Gene said crossly, "I told myself again and again that I would never ask her to stay. Wouldn't be fair. For ten years I've wished she would make that choice but I can't say anything that will influence that, one way or the other. It's got to be _her _choice." he shook his head. "She won't make the choice I want. And I can't sit around, waiting for the day I have to go cold turkey from Alex again. So I'm weaning meself off slowly."

"By dumping her?"

"It was mutual agreement," Gene mumbled.

Simon stared at Gene, aghast.

"Gene," he began hardly able to string his words together, "last night I put a ring on Robin's finger, and an hour later he vanished from in front of my eyes. I'm never going to see him again. We're on separate sides of life and death. Hours ago, Malcolm watched the woman he loved die in front of him. Kim's got a partner at home that she'd give anything to see. And you? The one person you want to be with is standing in there, crying her eyes out, and you're out here moping into an empty bloody glass! For fuck's sake, Alex is still _here!_ she might be here for weeks or months, or even longer. And you've got the chance to make the most of those weeks, those months or whatever." he shook his head and looked at Gene crossly. "Don't waste it. That's all I'm going to say. Don't waste that precious time you've got left with her. Because when they try to bring her round again and she disappears from your life you're going to _really _regret it if you do."

Gene found himself staring at Simon. Was this really the same man who'd been sobbing over his iPhone when they first met? Gene almost laughed to think of how much had changed. He hesitated as his mind went over what Simon had said. It felt as though he was silent for a very long time as he thought about the day, Alex's gradual disappearance, their fight and Simon's advice. Eventually he looked at Simon again.

"What's the time, Shoebury?"

Simon looked at him, a little horrified.

"_Eleven forty eight," _he cried, _"like always!"_

Gene sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. Almost five. If they hurried he could just about make it. Hopefully it was late-night shopping that day.

"Right," he got to his feet, "Shoebury, yer needed. Go and wait in the car."

"What? _Why?" _he cried.

"Need yer expertise," said Gene.

"What about Peter?" frowned Simon, "the new guy?"

"He'll still be jabbering when we get back," he said, "get down to the car park and wait in the Fiat." he marched back into CID where he found Alex sitting quietly in the corner, wiping her eyes.

"Drake," he barked, "your place. Tonight. Eight o clock." He paused, wondering how many whiskeys he was going to need first. "Actually, make it nine. And cancel packing the packing up of me toothbrush."

Without giving her a chance to respond Gene turned around and marched out of CID leaving a confused and somewhat annoyed Alex in his wake.

She raced to the door and peered out but Gene had scampered too quickly to challenge. She was left confused, angry and emotional, completely bewildered by Gene's behaviour since arriving back at CID. Now he was expecting to come round that night? And for what? Her head hurt even trying to think about it.

She knew one thing - whatever he was intending to do that night, it would have to be pretty bloody spectacular if he wished to avoid a night in the back of his car.


	53. Chapter 52: The Unfamiliar

**Chapter Fifty Two**

_**(You know, two months ago, when I started what I thought was going to be a 16 chapter fic, typing out each chapter name in full rather than using digits for the number seemed like a fun and quirky idea. By now, it has lost its appeal!)**_

~xXx~

Gene pushed the door of the shop open and stepped inside, relieved to find it was still open.

"Thank god for late night shopping," he said.

Scowling like a moody schoolboy being taken to buy his new uniform on the first day of the summer holidays, Simon followed him in reluctantly. Despite the shift in time, to Simon it was only just over 24 hours since he'd last stepped inside that shop and the memory of his last visit stung at his heart.

"I don't see why_ I _had to come," he pouted.

"Because you're better with this kind of thing than me, Shoebury," Gene told him.

"Yeah, 'cos the last two times I went to the jewellery store were _such_ a raving success," Simon said sarcastically.

"Can I help you?" a slightly snooty looking shop assistant approached them.

Gene turned around, suddenly feeling very much out of his depth. His mouth grew dry and his palms began to sweat. Put him in front of a man with a loaded gun and he could take him down in a second. Put him in front of a woman who wanted to sell him a bunch of jewellery and he felt like he was drowning.

"Uh, yes, as it 'appens," he began, "'ave you got any rings?"

The woman glowered at him.

"This is a fine jewellers, Sir," she began, "yes, of course we _'ave _rings."

Gene scowled.

"Well would you be so kind as to show me _where_ you 'ave them?" he asked crossly.

The woman paused to give Gene a killer scowl, then turned and marched to the far end of the store.

"This way, Sir," she said.

Gene pulled a face behind her back as he followed, glancing behind him at a reluctant Simon.

"_Oi! Shoebury! _Get your arse over here!"

Simon folded his arms and kicked the ground but followed Gene eventually.

"Here are our rings, sir," the woman told him.

Gene frowned.

"They look a bit big," he said.

"These are men's rings, Hunt," sighed Simon. He glanced at the woman. "He want engagement rings."

"_Women's _rings," Gene said quickly, "rings for a woman. Something a post tart would want to wear."

The woman was hating this particular night at work more than usual.

"_Fine," _she sighed and led them back towards the other side of the store. This time she pointed at a tray of sparkly diamonds which made Gene ache in the wallet-region to even look at them.

"'Ave you got anything a bit less…" he paused, "anything that will leave me with enough money to at least buy a pint afterwards?"

Simon grabbed Gene by the arm and shook him a little, the motion surprising himself as much as it did Gene.

"Look," he hissed, "are you going to do this right or not?"

"_Watch the coat," _Gene snatched his arm away from Simon. He smoothed himself down and glared him for a moment.

"You're the one who dragged me here!" cried Simon, "I didn't want to come!"

"You talked me into it."

"I did no such thing!"

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but if neither one of you will be procuring a ring from this store then I will have to ask you to leave."

"No," Simon said quickly, "he wants a ring."

"_Someone _around here wants a _slap," _mumbled Gene but he pulled himself together and began looking at a different tray of rings. These were all manor of different colours, different stones, different settings - each one unique and unusual in its own way. He peered in closer and pointed to one of them.

"What d'you think of that one, Shoebury?"

Simon folded his arms again.

"_I _don't know," he mumbled, "believe it or not I don't have a great track record with buying rings!"

"Well what do _you_ think she'd like?" Gene asked, the embarrassment of even being in such a place filling him with the urge to run, run, _run._

Simon sighed and took a step forward to look at the tray. The sooner Gene picked one, the sooner it would all be over he supposed.

"OK, what about that one?" he suggested, pointing at one.

Gene frowned.

"That one?"

"I've seen her wear jewellery like that this week," said Simon.

Gene peered at the ring a little closer.

"It's green," he said.

"So?"

"Looks like something I found in me handkerchief this morning."

Simon pulled a face.

"Ugh!" he cried in horror. _Floaters, bogies_… he was tiring of Gene's conversational topics already. He gave a sigh. "OK, let's try something else. What's Alex's birthstone?"

"No idea."

"Well when's her birthday?"

"No idea."

"You're supposed to be in _love _with the woman!" cried Simon.

"Well we don't really 'ave birthdays," Gee scratched his head, "we don't… age… in the same way we used to."

Simon began to feel depressed all over again.

"So not only am I dead, separated forever from my partner and stuck in the past I can't even celebrate my _birthday _any more?" he scratched his head.

Gene didn't answer. His eyes had been sidetracked by a particular item in the glass case.

"Oi, Simon," he began.

Simon scowled. Gene was starting to sound too much like Badger for his liking.

"What _now?"_

"I think I've found it." he pointed to a ring and stepped out the way for Simon to see.

"It's… yeah, it's _nice," _said Simon. Two stones sat in a curled band of white gold; one pale blue and the other lilac. "It's not a traditional engagement ring though."

"It's not really a traditional engagement," Gene countered.

Simon nodded.

That's fair enough," he said. He looked at Gene. "Go for it."

Gene gave the ring one last look and then nodded.

"I'll take that one," he said, still ashamed to be inside a jewellery store in the first place.

The snooty woman unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the tray for him to see.

"Would you like to try it on, sir?" she asked.

"No I bloody wouldn't!" Gene cried. He turned to Simon. "How do I know if this is her size?"

"Don't you know her ring size?"

"How would _I_ know her bloody ring size?"

"OK! OK!" Simon cried, "look, just buy the ring - you can always have it resized."

"I'll have yer gob resized if you don't stop shouting!" Gene told him crossly, then turned back to the snooty woman. "I'll take it."

"A wise choice, Sir," she told him.

Gene folded his arms and turned his back to the woman, leaning against the counter and plucking his flask out of his pocket.

"Yer only saying that because you've spotted the price tag," he mumbled. He glace at Simon as he tried not to laugh at Gene's surprisingly flushed cheeks and his attempt at hiding away inside his coat. "Something amusing you, Shoebury?"

Simon coughed a little.

"No, sir," he lied.

Gene eyed him warily, then looked away. He cleared his throat.

"You remember that pep talk I gave you last night, Shoebury?"

Simon did. He remembered his words of wisdom at the bar, steeling his nerves before he asked Robin the most important question of his life.

"Of course," Simon nodded slowly.

Gene scuffed his shoe on the ground and gave Simon a sideways glance.

"You wouldn't mind reminding me of it, would you?"

~xXx~

As Kim slept soundly in her hospital bed and the ward was still and quiet, footsteps tiptoed slowly to e doorway of her room. They paused outside as though waiting, trying to decide whether to take a step closer, into her space, or to wait where they were and watch from afar.

A second set of footsteps came closer and a voice asked,

"_Can I help you, Sir?"_

He hesitated, turning to face the young nurse who had the welfare of her patient on her mind.

"The girl… Kimberley," he began, "can you tell me how she's doing?"

"Right, are you a relation, or…?"

"No, no I'm not a relation."

"I'm afraid we have a policy of only giving out information to the next of kin, Sir."," the nurse apologised.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification.

"I need a full report on this young officer's condition," he said.

The nurse looked at his identification and felt a little guilty for refusing him a moment earlier.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I knew this was a police matter but I didn't realise you were part of the investigation," she said quickly.

He put his D away and turned back to her anxiously.

"So, about Kimberley…"

The nurse lifted the chart outside the door and checked a few details.

"She's recuperating well," she said, "once we've checked her iron levels she should be able to go home in the morning."

"What caused her hospitalisation?"

"She lost a lot of blood," the nurse told him, "she was haemorrhaging. The placenta had already torn away from the side of her uterus. There was nothing that could be done."

He hesitated.

"Really?"

"Unfortunately while the pregnancy itself may have been strong and viable her own physical state was not best equipped to support a pregnancy. Taking in factors such as her smoking, excessive drinking, stressful lifestyle, when she received the blow to her abdomen it was the final straw."

He swallowed as her words sank in.

"The _pregnancy," _he repeated.

"She claims she was unaware of her pregnancy which accounts for her lifestyle," the nurse told him, "have you caught the person who inflicted the blow yet?"

He breathed in as deeply as his lungs would allow, then let his chest slowly deflate. Through the chink in the door he could see her laying deeply asleep, the covers pulled up to her chin like a lost little girl who was afraid of the dark.

"Not yet," he said quietly.

"Well I hope you do," the nurse told him, "that girl's been to hell and back today."

He stared beyond her. That nurse would never know how close to the truth her words came.

"Thank you, nurse," he said quietly, "you've been very helpful."

He watched her nod and give a polite smile, then she left to carry on about her ward rounds.

As she left, a lump rose in his throat. It caught him completely unawares. It wasn't something he was used to feeling, He swallowed to chase it away and turned to the door again. Very slowly he pushed it open, a little more, a little further, just enough for him to step inside. In the dim room he could see her short, cropped hair against the pillow, her eyes closed and her body curled around into a ball as though to protect her from the horror she had been through.

He took a step closer as a pang of something struck him. He just couldn't understand it. Not for a moment. These were feelings and emotions that he wasn't used to.

He took a deep breath and stared at her. The pregnancy, the baby, _his_ baby.

"I'm so sorry," the words left his lips before he could hold them back. They were powerful. Unstoppable. He was at the mercy of a sensation that he had no experience of before as it took hold of him and wouldn't let go.

For the first time, Jim Keats felt the very human emotion known as loss.

There was a click, a fizz, a buzz of static and the small portable TV in the corner of the room flicked on, making him jump out of his skin and

shaking him out of his strange emotions.

"…_.FFFZZZZTTTTTT…Keats had entered the hospital room of a comatose patient and attempted to smother her with…. FFFZZZTTTTT….."_

His eyes darted instantly to the screen. From behind the static a vague image formed which burst through a little more strongly every few seconds. The image was of a newsreader, talking seriously to the camera.

"…_FFFFZZZTTTTTTTTT… had already attempted to kill another man, DCI Simon Shoebury who was visiting her at the time.. KKKKKZZZZTTTTTT…."_

Anger and fear grew inside of him. The words on the TV were gnawing at him inside.

"No," he whispered, sliding quickly across the floor to the television and trying to find the 'off' switch.

"…_FFFZZZZZTTTTT….already been shot by DCI Keats but managed to acquire his gun during the resulting tussle….FFFZZZTTT…"_

"_Stop it," _he hissed, his fingers jabbing at the button to no avail.

"_FFFFFZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTT… held the gun against his neck and shot him…."_

"_STOP!"_

"…_Dead!"_

He slammed his fist down hard on the TV set and the screen flickered then went black. Behind him, the sound of sheets rustling as the sick young woman began to stir caught his attention and brought it back to the real world. He glanced around and started to panic, desperate to flee before she caught him there in her room and as quick as a flash he sped out of the door, his form slinking away so smoothly and quickly that he resembled a cat sneaking down an alleyway.

Kim blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes, certain she'd caught glimpse of some kind of intruder slipping out of her room but the enormous amounts of drugs she'd had pumped into her, accompanied by the blood loss, caused her to doubt and ignore her tired eyes. Counting it as a hallucination she laid back, feeling a little shaken, and pulled the covers a little more closely around her neck. A deep, dark feeling of emptiness and isolation sank over her as she began to wish that there was someone - _anyone_ - she could turn to for friendship in this world.

In the corner of the room, there was a buzz and a crackle from the television set. It glowed faintly as though it had been playing all night and only just shut down. She looked from the TV to the door and shuddered. She didn't like feeling paranoid. She'd give anything to feel normal again, but as the only way for that to happen was to make it home she would just have to resolve to find her way out of Gene's world as soon as she possibly could. This time, the only person she was going to reply on to get her there was herself.

X

His legs flailing down the corridor, Jim Keats felt a strong darkness overwhelming him. His mind blocked out the words that the television had thrown at him but it couldn't take away the dark emotions that were creeping back.

Reaching the end of a silent, deserted corridor he came to a halt, rested his hands gently against the cold, white wall and silently pressed his forehead into it, leaning just slightly as his legs felt a little weakened beneath him. That surprised him. It was a downright shock. Since when did he ever find himself shaken by something? Anything at all? Even with a pair of handcuffs slapped around his wrist by Hunt he knew nothing could beat him.

The nurse's words echoed in his mind.

"…_Unfortunately while the pregnancy itself may have been strong and viable her own physical state was not best equipped to support a pregnancy…"_

The thought of it; the existence of his own flesh and blood, a child in his likeness, a baby he'd secured the death of, brought him the strongest, strangest mix of emotions he had never experienced in his life. Sadness, loss, overwhelming guilt. They burned in his stomach like pools of molten lava.

One lone tear lipped from his eye and travelled slowly down his face, a sensation that he had not experienced in a great many years, on either side of life.

"…_Dead,"_ the final word of the news report slammed into his head again, and with it he slammed his head against the wall. The blow brought a very real and human sensation of pain that he hadn't felt in years. He'd laughed at the punches thrown his way, mocked as others tried to cause him true pain and damage, but one night - one discovery - had brought about a very human side to him.

The pain in his forehead throbbed and he dropped to the floor, head in hands, the anger, guilt and grief building up to catastrophic proportions, then in a second - like flipping a switch to turn light into darkness, the emotions died and his expression became perfectly neutral again. The only reminder of his momentary lapse was the red mark on his forehead where a bruise would surely develop as the hours passed and the whisper of a notion of a baby he very nearly welcomed into the world floating inside his head.

He took a few moments to regroup, to make sure any hint of emotion had drained from his body, then he slowly got to his feet, smoothed down his coat and walked briskly to the nearest exit.

Jim Keats did not experience emotions.

Jim Keats did not feel a sense of loss or guilt.

And Jim Keats did not even remotely entertain the idea that he might be dead.

All Jim Keats wanted to do was to slip away into the night and to work on his plans to build Fenchurch West up until he was truly equal to Gene in every way. Anything else was a distraction from his work, and he couldn't bear to be distracted.

Not even for sick young women or television sets with an important message for him.

As he fled down staircases and out into the night air his memory of the message was already slipping away. His lungs filled with the coldness of a dark November evening and gave him the very real sensation of life. That sensation was the only thing he focused on for the rest of that night.

Life.

~xXx~

Simon felt like a prat. That was the only way to explain it.

In the hours that followed his humiliating attempt at helping Gene choose a ring his life turned into a comedy of errors.

Returning to Fenchurch East he found Peter Vickery now had a paint pot stuck on his _other_ foot too.

"_I was trying to get the first one off and backed up into another one!"_ he yelled furiously, attempting to make Simon relieve his feet of the paint pots.

Just a few minutes with Vickery had shown Simon exactly how difficult Gene's job was. Those who came from an instant death were easy to deal with - they had no memory of it, it was _situation normal_ for them. But in Vickery he saw his own anguish reflected from his first time around.

"You need to update your computer systems," Vickery told him, "no one runs Windows Ninety Five any more! You're stuck in the dark ages!"

"Yes, we are," Simon had told him with a sigh.

Over the next half an hour he dealt with no less than five more individuals who claimed it was their first day. He was feeling totally overwhelmed by the time the sixth came looking fore him,

"How can I have this many people working for me?" he cried eventually, before realising that only two of them were his and the others were actually looking for either Alex or Gene but they both seemed to have disappeared, leaving him in effective charge of CID for the rest of the day. _"They can't do this to me!" _he cried, "_this is, effectively, my first day!"_

Eventually, in desperation, he tried calling Alex but all she offered was some kind of vague ramble about Gene's toothbrush and hung up on him.

"Charming!" he cried.

He tried to track down Gene but in the absence of a home address or a phone number he found himself at a loss until he thought to try the Karaoke club and sure enough he found Gene sitting at the bar, a bag of nerves, with a row of empty glasses in front of him.

Simon spent the next hour alternately plying him with alcohol to give him courage and plying him with black coffees so that he was at least still coherent by the time he got to Alex.

Gene would also, Simon realised, probably spend the whole night peeing, considering the hundred gallons of liquid he seemed to have consumed.

Eventually he sent Gene in the right direction and finally headed home. _Home. _ that was an alien concept to Simon. It wasn't even his flat, of course, as he thought to himself on the way there. It was Robin's home. Simon didn't have any form of an address as he arrived in Gene's world. He was just fortunate that he was the one who had the keys in his pocket the night Robin vanished and awoke in 2010.

As he arrived back he found a car parked outside. For a moment he bristled. Was there an unwanted guest lurking inside? Had the flat been handed over to Peter Vickery as he'd entered Gene's world? Was Simon homeless?

Nervously he let himself in and switched on the lights.

"_Hello," _he called. There didn't seem to be any reply. He slowly made his way through the flat until he reached the lounge and spotted a set of keys on the coffee table. Curiously he bent down and scooped them up, his attention drawn to the keyrings attached to them. One was a _Red Dwarf _keyring in the shape of Starbug; the other was a simple metal plate with a name on it. The name said, _"Simon."_

He examined them a little more closely. They were car keys. He walked to the window and peered out at the strange car he'd seen a few minutes earlier.

"That's _my car?"_ he asked no one in particular. He felt increasingly confused. Where had all of this come from?

He decided to take a little more note of the rest of the flat. Although the décor and furniture were more or less the same there were other changes that he noticed. The big _X-Files _poster on the door, the small collection of horror videos beside the TV, the old computer in the corner with the crusty old green-tinted monitor. He heard a strange snuffling noise and a squeak. It made him stop in his tracks. As he heard a second, more insistent squeaking he decided to follow the sound and tracked it into the bedroom. On the floor beside the bed was a large cage inside which two fuzzy, noisy guinea pigs peered up at him, waiting for vegetables to grace their bowl.

Simon swallowed as the thought of never again seeing his own furry pal at home again began to set off his sadness again. The two furry faces looking back were quite different to his own guinea pig; one was black and white with a tiny splodge of tan at the side if its nose, the other was a soft sandy colour with a strange fin of fur sticking up on its back, putting Simon rather in mind of a very tame shark.

"Where did you two come from?" he asked them, kneeling at their level.

"_Wheek?" _said one.

"_Wheek," _conformed the other.

Simon stood up straight again, gathering few answers from the guinea pigs in question and wandered slowly to the bed where he sank down onto the duvet. Someone had changed all the bedding, which depressed him. He had been desperately hoping to catch Robin's scent on the sheets for one last night with his memory. As he scanned the room one more time a photograph on the bedside table caught his eye. He reached out and picked it up wish a slow and trembling hand.

The faces in the photograph were very familiar to him; two men talking and laughing in a candid shot taken inside the Karaoke bar. Robin's face greeted him from the frame, alongside his own. Who had taken the photograph, he didn't know. How it had arrived beside his bed was even more of a mystery. But, oh, how glad he was that it was there.

True loneliness struck him right then. For the first time since he arrived back in Gene's world he found himself truly alone. Even the night before, after Robin had disappeared and returned home to 2010, he was riding on a wave of euphoria from the knowledge that he'd made it and that had masked the sense of being on his own.

His heart sank. He placed the photograph back on the cabinet and got to his feet again. He slowly walked to the bathroom and switched on the light. He finally came face to face with himself in the bathroom mirror. He couldn't believe the state he was in. The dark circles under his bloodshot eyes where he'd spent so much of the day crying, tear tracks through the mud still smeared across his face, drops of Susannah's blood still staining his clothes and skin - it was no wonder the woman in the jewellery shop had been so off with himself and Gene, she probably thought they were on the verge of robbing the place.

As he stared into the mirror, one solitary fact came back into his mind. It was the fact he'd been fighting hard to bury for hours upon hours. Ever since his realisation, things had been chaotic. Kim's collapse, Keats' interception, Malcolm's exit and new arrivals in CID - he hadn't had the chance to think about his own situation.

"I'm dead," he whispered.

The man staring back at him in the mirror was no longer living and breathing. He was laying in a coffin under the ground in 2010.

"I'm _dead."_

The tears began to well in his eyes again.

He'd lost everything that he cared about. Robin, his father, his sisters, his guinea pig, his colleagues - everyone and everything he'd known for thirty two years, all gone in an instant.

He hated the man looking back at him from the mirror. That man was alone. That man was empty. That man had no one. That man never even got to say goodbye.

"I've got no one," he whispered, his reflection echoing his words.

As he stared at himself images and voices from the day played through his mind. Keats with a gun aimed at his head, Kim's painful collapse, Susannah's life fading away, the feeling as her soul left her body, Malcolm walking away into forever, the truth about Gene's world and his role within it. The sounds and visions swirled around him like a sea of anguish until it overwhelmed him and brought a scream to the very edge of his voice. A split second before he let the scream come forth, a reflection of a second face in the mirror appeared and terrified him to the core.

That face. That man. That most evil of _all _men.

Keats.

"_You're dead," _he hissed with a sneer.

Simon spun around quickly but there was no one behind him. He glanced back at the mirror but the eerie reflection had gone. In anger he picked up the ceramic toothbrush holder beside the sink and hurled it at the shiny glass before him. It struck the mirror and cracked it but that was not enough to shatter it. The broken reflection of Simon stared back at its counterpart. Now it truly looked like he felt - cracked, shattered, defeated.

In an instant, he made the decision not to let that reflection control him. He switched off the light and marched back out of the room. Tonight, he could be broken. He could scream and cry as much as he needed, but in the morning he would work on putting himself back together again.

There had to be another reason why he was there, beyond the obvious. He didn't know what and he didn't know why but he had a dark sense of foreboding and a strange instinct that it may well involve the face who had appeared instantaneously in the mirror.

"_Keats," _he hissed.

So far, the score stood at one all. Keats ensured Simon's death in 1985, and Simon saw to _his_ gruesome end in 2010. The story wasn't over yet. There was clearly some unfinished business there between them. Perhaps it was time for the decider.

Simon, for one, was determined that this would be a round he had to win. There was no alternative.

_That_, he decided, was his purpose.

Now he needed to work out how to triumph in the final round


	54. Chapter 53: Just One Ring

**Chapter Fifty Three**

Alex sipped her wine and looked at the clock on the wall. 8:45. She'd been left so bewildered by Gene's parting statement that she was left slightly in two minds whether he was going to turn up at eight or nine. Nine had been his afterthought but there was still an element of doubt in her mind so by eight she was all ready and prepared for whatever lay ahead.

She had been through a rollercoaster of emotions that day and the last thing she needed was another argument with Gene. She couldn't believe what had happened earlier. Aside from the occasional squabble about using the last of the toothpaste or acceptable and unacceptable places to _do it_ they lived a relatively drama-free life.

She couldn't recall a single row of this magnitude, not in ten years. Nothing even half that. How they could have suddenly dissolved their relationship in the space five minutes, she simply couldn't figure out.

Now she was left second-guessing Gene's intentions for the evening. He could be packing her bags and telling her she had a permanent transfer to Grimsby, he could be dragging her off to Gretna Green to elope. He could be doing anything between the two. She had no idea.

How was she supposed to dress? Was this going to be a good night or a bad night? She must have changed outfits at least ten times, constantly changing her mind about what Gene was going to say to her and swapping outfits to match.

What was she supposed to provide? Food? Wine? Cheesy nibbles? Music and ambience? Or a pile of cardboard boxes to pack up her things and ship her out?

She downed her wine and poured another glass. It was her third but it wasn't quelling her nerves. The clock ticked closer to nine and she began to pace up and down. The angry words they had exchanged earlier haunted her, playing over and over in her head. She kept trying to work out who was to blame, where it all went wrong, what triggered the row but the more she went over it the less sense it made.

The buzzer sounded and Alex jumped so much she slopped her wine out of the glass. Hastily trying to clear it up with a tissue, she mumbled to herself and rushed to the intercom where she buzzed Gene in without waiting for him to talk. She didn't want to pick up anything from the tone of his voice in case he confirmed her worst fears with a simple _'It's me'._

She did have a momentary panic that she might have accidentally let in a roaming axe-wielding murderer, Jim Keats or a camera crew from L!ve TV but with a strong knock on the door and a '_Let me in, Bolly'_ she knew very well who it was.

She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothed down her hair and turned to answer the door.

Standing outside was a paradox of Gene - on the one hand he was dressed as dapperly as she had ever seen him, a familiar suit and floppy half-done bowtie bringing back a barrage of memories. On the other hand, his legs were caked in mud up to his thighs.

"Gene!" she cried, "what happened?"

"I fell in an 'ole," Gene mumbled

Alex stood, staring at him for a few moments. At first she didn't know what to say. Finally all she could think was to repeat his final words.

"A hole?"

"Yes."

She hesitated, torn between laughing and yelling.

"_How_… exactly…?"

Gene cleared his throat.

"The 'ole, the tarmac and the night sky were all a similar colour," he explained gruffly "didn't see it there."

Alex tried to stifle the giggle that erupted despite her best attempts to keep a straight face. She stood back a little and said,

"You'd better come in."

Gene tried to brush the worst of the mud from his trousers, then stepped in through the doorway and through the hall to the familiar lounge. He put his hands in his pockets and felt, in one of them, the small box he'd been paranoid about losing n his way over.

"I'm wearing the suit," he pointed out as Alex followed him, checking her floor for stains, "the one I wore on our first date."

Alex nodded and wished she'd made more of an effort to dress up, but in her defence she had no idea what kind of a talk Gene wanted to have.

"I know," she whispered, "brings back a lot of memories." she paused and tried to fight another giggle. "It had a few less muddy stains the last time though." She paused and glanced around. "Uh… wine, Gene?"

Gene glanced at the bottle on the table. Between the whiskies, the coffees and one or two pints he was already awash with liquid, causing his whole innards to slosh from side to side when he moved. Adding more alcohol to the mix probably wasn't such a good idea. But there was something that he loved so much about seeing his glass beside Alex's when they shared a bottle of red that made him think again.

"Yes, please," he said.

Alex slowly walked to the table where a spare glass already sat beside the bottle. She poured his drink and topped up her own to make up for the spilled wine from earlier.

"Here," she handed it to him, a soft, nervous smile across her lips bathed in a lipstick that matched the depth of the wine.

"Thank you," Gene said quietly as he took the glass.

"I didn't get anything to eat," Alex began, "I didn't know if you were expecting anything or if you were eating first, or…" she was jabbering and she knew it. She had a tendency to let her mouth get carried away with her when she was nervous. "…And then I thought, well, nine is pretty late to eat so you'd probably have something before you came over…" she looked at Gene. "Have you?"

Gene had lost the thread halfway through her jabbering.

"Have I what?"

"Eaten?"

Gene shook his head.

"No."

"I can get you something now," Alex offered, "if you'd like?"

Gene felt a little nauseas already for the gallons of liquid Simon had persuaded him to consume. There was little space for anything else in there, except maybe for something to dry up Lake Hunt.

"Not unless you've got one of them packets of silica gel you get in new 'andbags," he said.

Alex frowned.

"Gene, it already says 'do not eat' on those," she pointed out, "I'm not going to serve you one up."

Gene stood his glass on the table and slowly sank into a chair, while Alex sat nervously on her couch, only slightly panicking about the mud Gene was introducing to her furniture. She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to talk, but when he didn't she had a question to voice instead.

"Gene… what _happened _today?"

Gene stared at Alex and wished that he could turn back time to erase the afternoon. He knew full well what happened that day. It wasn't going to be easy to admit.

"I panicked," he said quietly.

"What?"

"That's what happened," Gene continued, "I panicked."

"I know you have worries… about commitment," Alex began, "but…"

"It's not _commitment _that worries me," Gene told her, "that's not what I was panicking about."

Alex's brow crumpled just a little in confusion.

"Then what?" she whispered.

Gene's adam's apple rose and fell as he swallowed. It was not easy to even think about the subject, let alone talk about it. He didn't know how to explain it to her.

"I panicked," he began, "about losing you forever." He looked at her waiting expectantly for him to elaborate on that. He wished that he had a better way with words. "I lost you earlier, Bolly. You faded right out and I was alone. I've grown too used to being with you. I'm too dependent on you."

"We're a _team_, Gene," Alex began, "that's how we should be. We _should _be dependent on each other."

"But you disappeared," Gene told her again, "and I was left standing on me own. I didn't like it, Bolly. Not one bit."

"Gene, I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," Alex began with a sigh of frustration, "one minute you're telling me we're over, the next you're telling me you don't want to be without me… excuse me for getting confused but there seems to be some mixed messages here…"

"I know, I know," Gene put his head in his hands, hoping that his words would form enough coherency for her to understand what he was trying to say. "I was stupid. I wanted to get used to being without you now, a bit at a time. That way… when the day comes… it won't hurt so bad to see you vanish into thin air."

Alex stared at Gene, beginning to feel in serious danger of tearing up again. _Damn_ her eyes, they seemed to be overreacting so much today. She hadn't cried so much in years.

"Gene," she whispered, "I wish that there was something I could do or say… to make it easier on you. I have thought of nothing else, ever since I came back. But all I can see is that either I spend the time I've got left here with you, making the most of every day, or the last ten years might as well have never happened."

Gene breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm the increasing pace of his heartbeat. He didn't want to listen to his pulse thumping through his ears. He looked at Alex with deep sincerity in his eyes and leaned forward just a little.

"It's easy for you to say, Bolly. You're not the one who'll be left behind. You've got Molly waiting for you."

"That doesn't mean my heart won't break," Alex whispered.

Gene looked down.

"Watching you fading in and out," he shook his head. "I don't want to go through that again. I've never seen that happen to anyone before."

"I'm sorry," Alex whispered.

"Simon said… he thought that might have happened because you were," he dared to look back at her, _"fighting _it."

Alex felt like someone had pressed pause on her for a moment.

"Fighting it?" she repeated eventually.

Gene nodded slowly.

"That maybe you were trying to," he almost choked as he said the words, "_stay here."_

"Gene," Alex began, her expression growing emotional, but he held up his hand to stop her.

"The question is," he began, "the next time they try to wake you up, are you gonna stay or are you gonna go? And can you even make that choice?" he took a deep breath. "I think you're still trying to make the decision in 'ere…" he reached out and gently brushed the side of her head, his fingers touching her hair and moving it away from her face as he did so, "but you've already made the choice in 'ere," his hand left her head and moved to her chest where he pressed his fingers against her and felt the fast, hard beating of her heart. Words began to gather in her head but before they could escape through her lips Gene spoke again to silence her. "_Don't tell me," _he whispered, "either way, don't tell me."

"_Gene…"_

"I don't want to know. Even if you choice goes in my favour. There's no way of knowing if you even get to choose whether you stay or go. I don't want to get me 'opes up. And I don't want to live with knowing you wont be sticking around either. So keep your decision in 'ere." He pressed his fingers a little ore firmly against her chest before drawing them away, the motion stealing the breath from Alex as his touch moved her every bit as much as it had done from their first night together.

"OK," she whispered eventually, her tongue tracing a line around her lips.

Gene glanced down or a moment, the back at her.

"You were right about making the most of it, Bolly," he said quietly, "you're _glass half full _and I'm _glass half empty_. Should have been looking at the time we have together not how long until were pulled apart. So…" he trailed off and closed his eyes. "_Shit, _I really need a piss."

"Gene!"

"I'll just -"

"You're going nowhere near the bathroom until you finish that sentence," Alex told him, becoming increasingly aware that her hands were starting to shake.

Gene took a deep breath and tried to draw his courage together. This kind of thing didn't come naturally to him.

"This is the part I've be dreading," he told her, "whatever I say, I'm going to end up sounding like some flower-arranging nancy boy."

"_Gene."_

Gene hesitated. He stared at Alex, a nervous anticipation reflected in her eyes. As his fingers wandered to his pocket her expression became more urgent, more emotional and more intense with every moment.

"I don't know how long we've got," he said, "and I don't know what's going to 'appen when Molly calls your name again. But," he grasped the box in his hand and brought it out into the open air. The sight of it brought Alex's world to a standstill. The earth ceased to turn, the clouds ceased to move in the sky, the moon ceased to shine. Nothing else existed except the little red box that fixed her stare in an instant.

"_Is…" _she tried to speak but her voice seized up.

Gene held the box in front of her.

"One ring on your finger," he said quietly, "even if the second one never gets the chance to join it."

He opened it slowly and the unique, shining, beautiful ring greeted Alex with a twinkle that brought those tears back into her eyes. Gene sincerely hoped that she wasn't going to cry because he'd seen enough tears from his team for one day.

"_What…" _Alex began but realised she didn't really have an end to her sentence.

Gene wasn't really in the right frame of mind for the whole _one-knee _thing. For one thing, the scotch was making sure that his balance was only working to about 56% of its usual capacity. A one-kneed proposal would probably end up with Gene's head buried in the coffee table. However, there was nothing wrong with giving tradition a new spin so he slipped from the chair onto the floor and reached for her hand as he knelt before her, anxious about picking the wrong one by mistake.

Luckily his instincts helped him to pick the correct hand, which he held gently in his own. He recalled holding that same hand a few hours earlier, turning it over and over as he made sure that it was real, that she was truly back in his world. He caught sight of her watch, still ticking, and tried to ignore it.

Placing the box on the floor, he plucked the ring out with his fingers and looked it over for a moment, seeing a small and greatly distorted glimpse of their reflections within it. He glanced up at Alex's face and saw upon it an expression he had never seen before. Her eyes were wide and drew him deeply in, while her jaw trembled just slightly. There looked to be one tear threatening to break free and escape down her cheek but so far she was managing to keep it back.

He looked down at her hand again then, slowly, found the right finger and began to slowly slip the ring past her nail, over her knuckle and down to where it belonged. It may have been just a touch too big but hardly at all to notice. He saw her hand start go shake within his grasp and followed it with his gaze, all the way up her arm, her shoulders and to her beautiful face.

"You haven't said yes yet," he pointed out quietly.

The tear broke free and made its inevitable descent down Alex's cheek. Her eyes fixed upon his as her lips quivered and she whispered her heartfelt response.

"Gene," she whispered, "you already know my answer. You knew it when you put it on my finger without even asking the question."

"Yes?"

"_Yes."_

Gene's eyes closed involuntarily and he leaned towards her as she echoed his motion. Their foreheads touched in a moment of such peaceful, complete joy and emotion that neither spoke or moved for several moments. When they did move, it was an instinct that brought their lips together, as though they automatically knew where to find each other. A kiss grew to a tight embrace that brought Gene up onto the couch beside her, then over her, inch by inch, his body pinning hers to the couch.

Their lips finally parted and their eyes opened, meeting in a gaze that sparkled more than any ring.

"I think the bedroom is waiting," Alex whispered. She began to rise from the couch as Gene moved from on top of her, smoothing down her clothes a little and reaching for his hand as she got to her feet. She pulled him up and began to lead him out of the door until Gene hesitated and hovered in the hallway for a moment.

"Hang on, Alex," he began, glancing toward the bathroom, "what about…"

Alex frowned.

"What?" she wasn't sure what he meant, "your little rubber friends are already in the bedroom."

Gene flushed an interesting shade of fuchsia.

"I was wondering," he began.

"_Yes…?"_

"If I was allowed to use the bathroom yet?"

Alex closed her eyes and reverse-head butted the wall with the back of her head.

"_Gene!"_

Gene took that response as a yes, but not before he gave a silent grin at the thought of what would come afterwards and at the sight of the ring on her finger. It all suddenly seemed so simple, so much more so than before.

For whatever time they had, however long they were breathing the same air, they would be together.

That was all he needed to know.


	55. Chapter 54: The Morning After

**Chapter Fifty Four**

Simon awoke the next morning to sounds of his alarm clock trying to kill him. It was ironic, he thought, how every glance at a clock or watch would pinpoint his time at eleven forty eight, but after sleepless and emotional night his alarm could still get him up in time for work.

He'd finally garnered about three hours of sleep. Between all that happened the day before, mixed in with trying to get used to sleeping alone, the flashbacks, physical aches that wracked his body and a pair of bloody noisy guinea pigs that squeaked until all hours he figured it was gone half past 3 when he finally passed out.

During his sleepless night he'd chosen to pass a little time by making a list. Unfortunately one list turned into two, then three and he became so confused by his own organisation he decided to would be a good idea to begin by making a list of lists to make.

Then he felt like a nerd and screwed the first list up.

_Then_ he realised he couldn't remember what the first list had on it and routed through the rubbish to find it again.

God, if only Robin was there, he thought. Robin never cared when Simon was geeky. They were the biggest pair of geeks they knew.

He'd opened up the first list again, smoothed it out and read;

_List of lists to make:_

_1. To-Do List_

_2. Shopping list_

_3. Why am I here?_

_4. Ways to stop Peter Vickery driving me crazy_

_5. Reasons to love being in November 1995_

So far, the lists he'd created from his master list had not been going so well.

Now, as a new day dawned, he looked over the lists that he'd started to create. The sparsest list was number 5. He couldn't think of _any_ reasons to be glad to bed in '95 at all, not as it meant being away from Robin. He forced himself to find three things - any three things - no matter how tiny that he could pinpoint as being positive about being stuck in that particular time. Even so, he'd still only managed to think of 2: The fact that it was only 7 months or so until the Spice Girls released _Wannabe _and that he knew he could win some money by putting an early bet on Ireland winning the Eurovision Song Contest again.

List number 4 wasn't a great deal better. Most of the items on it involved hiding in the canteen for long periods of time, written out in different styles of handwriting to fill up the page.

OK, so list number 2 was fairly long but unfortunately he didn't have the money to complete it. And list number one was looking fairly healthy;

_1. Check out new car_

_2. Visit Kim_

_3. Check Hunt didn't screw up proposal_

_4. Find my alleged office_

_5. Get Deed poll papers_

_6. Where the hell is Keats now?_

He pinned that list to the notice board in his kitchen and turned to the final list; list number three. _Why am I here?_

So far there was one word written on it, right in the middle of the sheet of paper. Technically one word didn't make a list, but on this occasion it held more weight than a whole page of words so in his opinion it counted.

"_KEATS," _it said in big, bold capital letters.

The previous day had shown Simon many answers. Now he knew that he had no way home, no way of ever getting back, no life to live. He had discovered that - somehow - he had been chosen to help others to pass in the same way that Gene, and later Alex, had been chosen. He had seen and experienced so much in the space of 24 hours. But inside of himself he knew that there was something deeper for him to do. Another layer to his purpose for being there. He had a horrible feeling it involved the man who had exposed them all to the harrowing ordeal of the day before.

"Who the hell _are_ you, Keats?" he muttered to himself as he stared at the sheet of paper and began to doodle a pair of spectacles in the corner. There were strange flashes of human behaviour in between his evil actions of hatred and spite. He'd seen them. Kim had seen them. Alex had seen them. His bizarre reaction to breakthrough flashes of a news report just after Simon learned of his own death had brought Simon to wonder whether Keats even knew that he was like the others. Was he in denial about being dead himself?

And then there was his hold; his strange hypnosis that had brought Kim to her knees and had almost worked on Alex too. That was a dangerous skill. Plus, how could he haunt everyone so strongly? Seeing his face in the mirror the night before had left Simon with a terrible sense of dread and a broken mirror to contemplate. Exactly how real _was_ Jim Keats?

With a sigh, he lifted his pen and walked to the first list pinned to the notice board. Beneath the list so far he added a new item that needed to be done that day.

_7. Buy new bathroom mirror,_ it said.

~xXx~

Alex's eyes fluttered open as the harsh light filtered through a gap in the blinds. The duvet wrapped around her legs, the sheets crumpled beneath her and a warm torso behind her brought her mind back to the events of the night before.

A peaceful smile crept across her face as she glanced behind her and found Gene already awake and watching her.

"Morning," he said.

Alex's smile broadened.

"Good morning," she smiled.

Gene's fingers brushed against her shoulder.

"Just checking you were still here," he said, "Got paranoid again. After Shoebury got engaged his _intended_ disappeared. Wanted to make sure it didn't happen to you too."

Alex rolled over to face him and looked at him seriously.

"You know when something awful has happened and you wake up in the morning… there's a blissful moment of ignorance before you remember and it all comes crashing down on you again?"

Gene wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"_Ye-e-e-e-es?"_

"Well, for the first tie in my life I just experienced the opposite," she smiled. For a moment she had forgotten about the night before, then the memories of their talk and the ring on her finger came back to her and lit up her heart. She stared at the ring, still hardly believing that in the space of a few hours her life had changed so much.

Gene propped himself on his elbow and stared at her, trying not to give a smug and satisfied grin. Their evening had progressed from his proposal through several layers of passion. Despite one or two trips to the bathroom there had been wine, wild and passionate lovemaking and a certain amount of spreadable chocolate. They had been reckless and free, like a couple of teenagers sneaking out after dark.

"No doubts?" he asked her, "no regrets?"

"Not apart from that last glass of wine," Alex rubbed her head a little.

Gene flexed his leg slightly and pulled back the duvet to inspect it. It had been the strangest thing but during the course of the evening Alex and Gene's physical state had slowly started to catch up with the shift in time. As a month had passed in the blink of an eye, so Alex's chipped elbow and Gene's stab wound had started to rapidly heal.

"How's yer arm today?" he asked.

"Almost as good as new," said Alex.

"Well, that's either because of the time shifting," said Gene, "or because you 'aven't got Kite doing first aid on it any more."

Alex laughed, but a pang of sadness settled over her.

"I just realised," she said quietly, "we've got good news that we can never share with Susannah or Malcolm."

"I'm sure Shoebury will down a lemonade to celebrate," Gene pointed out.

"But all those new people," Alex sat up in bed, "officers we don't know yet. They're not going to care one way or the other. I just wish we could have shared this with our friends."

"Missus Tourniquet and Jarvis Cocker?" mocked Gene, "they were too busy undressing each other to take any notice."

"That's not true," said Alex.

Gene gave a hefty sigh and sat up.

"No," he agreed, "it's not." He tried not to think about how much he was going to miss them. It was very hard to admit that he thought of them as friends. He tried not to let himself get into that mindset because he knew it would always end in goodbye. He was worried that he was already starting to think fondly of Simon. While his situation was different to the others he still couldn't guarantee that nothing would happen to take him elsewhere.

Alex wished that they could just stay in bed forever. She wished they didn't have to face the day ahead. It was a day full of new faces and trying to work out how their new teams were going to work together. All she felt like dong was holding Gene, forgetting all the traumas of the previous day and enjoying more quality time with the spredable chocolate.

"Can't we just stay in bed today?" she asked.

"No can do, Bolly," sighed Gene, "we've got a station to rebuild. Can't leave Shoebury on 'is own. He already threatened to shove various objects up me car's exhaust if we did."

With a sigh Alex conceded that their perfect night had reached an end with the dawning of the new day. She slipped her legs from the bed and began to get dressed, but despite her lack of enthusiasm about starting the day she knew the sight of the ring on her finger would carry her through the day on cloud 9.

~xXx~

Simon left the flat and walked to his shiny new car, lists in pocket. He clung to the car keys with a sense of nervous excitement. He'd only caught a fleeting glimpse of it the night before in the dark, now he was able to see it properly.

Simon didn't know very much about cars but what he did know was that -_however_ he'd ended up with this one - he was a very lucky guy indeed. Shiny and silver, it was newer than Gene's and looked to be faster, too. Gleefully Simon rubbed his hands, finally finding a way to have one over the Guv. His eyes were drawn to the number plate on the back of the vehicle and he gave a tiny gasp. _S7 OUL. _

"_That is the single coolest thing…" _he cried before realising that people were staring as they walked past and decided it was probably best to get in the car, shut his mouth and see how it ran.

He wasn't disappointed.

Feeling like a kid on a joyride he tore through the roads.

"_I've been here four days,"_ he thought to himself, _"and already Hunt's driving has rubbed off on me."_

He realised he'd found the third thing to add to his list of reasons to love being in November 1995 - _Having a better car than Gene Hunt._

~xXx~

The drive to work was certainly better than what Simon found when he arrived. He managed to locate his office, which seemed to have been created as part of the rebuilding work, just along the corridor from CID and from Alex's office too. It was _OK_ as far as offices went. Bigger than Alex's pokey room but fairly dingy and lacking character.

He'd only been there for a few moments when Peter Vickery arrived in paint-stained trousers. Inwardly Simon cursed. He hadn't yet perfected his list of ways to stop the guy from driving him crazy.

"Where the hell did you go?" he yelled at Simon.

Simon held his forehead. This wasn't going to be a good day.

"I'm sorry?"

"Last night," Vickery said, "you just left! I had nowhere to go. I've got no bloody home, someone else is living in it! I had to sleep in one of the cells!"

Simon began to feel a little guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"_Sorry?" _Vickery cried, "Do you know what kind of a day I'd had? I go to work, I'm called to handle a consignment of counterfeit software and - _BANG!"_

Simon gulped.

"A server on your head?" he guessed.

"What? _No!" _Vickery looked at him in horror, "I got shot!"

Simon hesitated.

"Where abouts?" he asked.

"In the warehouse."

"No, I mean where on your _body?"_

"Right in the head," Vickery cried, "then the next thing I know I'm falling down, everything goes black and then some bloody workman is using me as a stand for his paint roller!"

Simon wished he had more experience with this. Or at least had Alex or Gene there to help him but there was no sign of them yet. He just hoped that this was a good sign and they were busy toasting their first morning of their engagement together rather than the result of Gene staggering drunkenly into a pool of quicksand on his way to Alex's flat.

"Where are you from?" he asked quietly.

"Fenchurch East," the irate man told him.

Simon sighed.

"No, I mean…" he trailed off. He wasn't allowed to go there. "Doesn't matter."

Vickery hadn't fished his admonishment of Simon.

"Now, I want some answers," he began, "first of all, I want to know where my real ID is. Secondly, I want you to put my office back how you found it and thirdly -"

"Thirdly, you need to show this gentlemen where the scotch is kept," Gene's voice interrupted as he walked past the door, "Morning, Shoebury."

"Gene!" Simon called. He made a dash for the door then glanced around at an increasingly angry Vickery, "Uh… won't be a second."

"You said that last night before you abandoned me in this station of doom!" Vickery cried, shaking his fist like some kind of cartoon villain.

"Gene!" Simon cried again, chasing to catch up to him.

Gene stopped and looked around, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"You neglecting your new DI, Shoebury?"

"Well?" Simon prompted.

"Well what?"

"Did you ask her?"

"Ask who what?"

"Don't give me that!" cried Simon, "come on, after dragging me to that bloody shop and making me give you your own pep talk in reverse… tell me you at least made it to Alex's in one piece."

"One _muddy_ piece," Gene mumbled.

Simon frowned in confusion.

"_Huh?"_

"You'd better ask Alex," Gene said smugly and walked away, leaving a confused Simon in the corridor. He didn't have to wait long before Alex came toward him and he grabbed her arm.

"Did he ask you?" he cried, searching for the evidence on her hand. He quickly found the ring he'd been present at the purchase of the previous night and breathed a sigh of relief. "Well thank god for _that!"_

Alex seemed a little taken aback

"Why?" she frowned, "what's the matter?

"He was… a little nervous," Simon told her tactfully, "and consumed a large quantity of dutch courage."

Alex smiled as she allowed her fingers to move a little, catching the light on the jewels.

"Well despite _one… _uncovered manhole incident…" Alex said awkwardly, "everything else went… _perfectly." _Simon detected the hint of a blush spreading across her cheeks. She looked at him seriously. "Whatever you said to him yesterday," she took a deep breath, "Thank you."

Simon gave a slightly awkward smile and a shrug.

"I only reminded him of what he already knew," he said, "He'd just become so preoccupied with losing you that he forgot to make the most of having you around."

Alex looked at him gratefully.

"Well, thank you anyway," she said, "…can I interest you on a wander to the brand new CID coffee-making facilities?"

"I think I ought to get on with some work," Simon began but the sight of a paint-splattered Vickery heading towards them brought about a sudden change of mind. "Then again, you never can have too much caffeine first thing in the morning, can you?"

He hurried away before the painty DI could accost him and demand a replacement pair of trousers.

~xXx~

He'd never had a nightmare before. At least not in living memory.

He couldn't make sense of the images that were haunting his sleep.

It had taken him long enough to even drift off in the first place. There was something stopping him, a dark thought in the back of his mind that he couldn't chase away. It was one of those vague notions that he could feel on the edge of his memory but couldn't quite access. When the hours had passed and time had finally stolen the consciousness from him to send him towards a deep sleep, the strangest of things came into his mind. Flashes of hospitals, machines bleeping, the firing of a gun. The sounds of a TV blaring, a newsreader saying his name, the sensation of incredible, unbearable pain and an all-consuming blackness that overtook him.

Then came the images of _her,_ over and over, the times he'd tricked her, the times he'd captivated her, the many days and nights that he stared into her eyes and made her heart skip a beat.

And then the kick, the blow, his own foot delivering the life sentence to a child he hadn't known existed.

The screams… the agonised screams she gave from the pain, and from the weeks he'd used her for his own malevolent purposes.

"…_Plant this… hide this… steal this… bring me these papers…"_

How many times had he used her? How many times had he done the same to others? How many times had he made a promise he had no intention of keeping? This wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last.

But this time… something about this time was different.

The sound of a baby's cry through his mind jolted him out of his sleep and he scrambled to an upright position in the bed. He gasped a few times, sweat trickling from his brow and stinging his eyes. He blinked a few times and roughly rubbed his face.

"What the hell was _that_ supposed to be?" he gasped, feeling his heart rate beginning to slow just a little. He was still panting for breath, the fear so very real from something buried deeply in his subconscious.

He closed his eyes and put his hands to his face, covering it as though trying to hide from the world and the nightmares. Something had been shaken inside of him. The tremor had started the day before, when a TV screen flickered on just after he'd brought Simon and the others to their knees with the knowledge of their condition. Now, he couldn't quite remember what the TV had shown or why it had shaken him so but something was eroding deep inside of him.

He had to act. He had to move. He had to shake the thoughts and strange feelings from his mind and body.

A quick disrobing and a journey to the bathroom where the shower invited him to wash away the worrying images that were plaguing him. The water beat against his skin, doing all it could to wash away the remaining anxiety that his nightmare had left him clinging to. The bubbles from his shower gel slipped down the drain, sliding and swirling around his feet but the memories never moved any further from him than to the edge of his mind.

"_Leave me alone!"_ he cried quite suddenly as the flash of her face, tortured by her own instincts trying desperately to fight against his spell, came into his mind.

A single word from a spluttering, static-filled TV broadcast rang in his ears.

"…_dead."_

He switched off the shower and threw a shampoo bottle to the ground where the top flew opened and creamy blue liquid began to seep from within. He worked hard to block out the memories as he stepped from the shower and wrapped his torso in a thick white towel. He tried to catch a glimpse of his face in the mirror but the steam had masked his features. Funny, he thought, how that strange fuzziness echoed the way he felt inside his head.

He remembered something from the night before. A hospital. Why had he been there? He felt as though his mind was splitting in two, half laden with emotions and memories while the other half fought violently to keep them at bay.

He remembered her. _Kim. _Her pale face, her exhausted body. He remembered she was his reason for being there. He was responsible for both parts of her condition - the creation of the pregnancy and the ending of it too.

"_Fuck this!"_ he cried, slamming his hand against the bathroom door. The pain that radiated through his knuckles broke the spell of emotions that had fallen upon him and he found himself returning to a state which was more familiar to him - cold, unfeeling, malevolent. He turned back to the mirror again. This time a little of the steam had cleared and he could see his reflection in the glass. His face was neutral and void of emotion.

He left the bathroom to dress and to begin a busy day - the building of his own team at his very own CID was ahead. A dark and worrying 'something' sat on the perimeter of his consciousness but he did little to encourage it. It could stay where it was.

Jim Keats did not acknowledge the nightmare that bad brought sweat to his brow, no matter how many times he could hear that baby's cry in his mind.

~xXx~

Alex's eyes were aglow as she told Simon about Gene's proposal and their night together. She felt like a lovesick schoolgirl as she ran through the story, leaving out the parts about the muddy trousers and Gene's overfull bladder. Simon felt a confusing conflict of emotions about it. He was relieved that they had worked through their blip from the previous day and had decided to throw caution to the wind, living their lives together without always worrying about what was around the corner. But at the same time, thoughts of his own engagement and the fact that he and Robin would never have a chance to enjoy that stage of their relationship together burned him deeply.

Eventually he felt as though he needed a little time alone to think about things and made his excuses. Alex began to feel a little guilty as he left, realising that her excitement may have been a little insensitive, considering his own situation. She couldn't help it, though. She had waited for so long to see a ring on that finger.

She sipped the last of her coffee, vaguely listening to the radio playing away in the background, when halfway through _Hand in my Pocket_ the song began to break up and the radio wandered to another station.

"What?" Alex sighed, fiddling with tuner to get a better reception. It was the bloody power tools, it had to be, messing with the reception. Stupid workmen. She sighed and tried to find the last station again, but a voice came through the static loud and clear suddenly.

"…_came straight here. You see, you're my last link with…"_

The static overtook the voice again. Alex cursed, her heart leaping in her chest as she realised that the voice was coming through from home; from her hospital bed. Was it a doctor with more news on what happened the day before? Would it give her a clue about how long she had left with Gene?

"Come on!" she muttered, giving the radio a hard _thwack_. That seemed to do the trick somehow as the voice returned.

"…_don't know what to say, I just…"_ the voice broke up a little as Alex tried to fiddle with the aerial. She frowned. The voice was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. A little more started to come through, _"…wish that you could just tell…"_

A loud fizzing of static burst through and the station veered back onto the music she'd been listening to a few moments before. Alex found her heart racing as she stared at the radio. This was different. This wasn't the usual kind of voice she would hear from home. There was no medical jargon, no rabble of doctors, not even Molly calling her name. It was a voice that she recognised but she couldn't place whose.

"You alright, Ms Bols?" Gene's voice made her jump as he entered the revamped kitchen. Alex spun around, looking very pale and anxious. "You seen a ghost or something?"

"Gene," she began, "I just heard something from home. A message." she paused, "but I don't think it was for me."

Gene frowned.

"What d'you mean?" he asked, "got a crossed wire?"

Alex exhaled loudly and shook her head.

"I don't know, she said quietly, "I can't explain it."

"As long as it wasn't your doc telling you to get yer arse back to two thousand and bollocks then I don't care," Gene commented looking for the sugar bowl..

Alex couldn't be as blasé as Gene though. She couldn't push the message away. She knew it wasn't for her - that seemed pretty clear, but the true destination of me message seemed out of her grasp. Se only hoped the voice would come through again, and soon Then, maybe, she could pass it on. Until then it would haunt her just a little. She had enough to deal with waiting for her own messages. Now she was going to be some kind of… _metaphysical secretary? _

"It's going to be one of those days," she sighed.


	56. Chapter 55: Down in the Archives

**Chapter Fifty Five**

Keats strode through CID at Fenchurch West with a sense of purpose, a smug, proud expression on his face to counter any hint of emotion and the nagging memories that were eating away at him._ Shut them out. Ignore them. Block them out. _That was the best plan Keats could formulate. After all, he had more important matters that day.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of Fenchurch West," he beamed, "today will be the day that you up your game! Fenchurch East is halfway back to being rebuilt and I don't intend to stand by while they swoop in and take our upcoming arrests. Is that clear?"

A smattering of faces from around CID chanted, _"Yes Guv!" _and the sound of their obedience was music to his ears.

"Beautiful," he said, strolling to the door of him office. As time passed by his office had become increasingly more like a mirror image of Gene's than anything else. Shaped by his subconscious and his desire to become Gene's exact counterpart, his office and surroundings had been morphing around him, leaving him with a mirror image of the very thing he loathed and yet envied most in the world. He reached the door which opened for him without so much of a turn of the handle and glanced back. "_Victoria! _My office with the files, now please."

His DI snapped to attention, getting to her feet and grabbing a pile of papers with a small box of odds and ends on the top. She clip-clopped to his office, her red heels tapping along the floor. Her short skirt and shapely legs were the office distraction, along with her long, flame-coloured hair, but Keats couldn't have cared less if she took off all her clothes and painted herself with edible body paint. His interests lay elsewhere.

"Here they are, sir," Victoria told him, bending over a little to place the pile of papers and the box on his desk. He caught sight of a couple of leery DCs peering through his door to see if they could catch a glimpse of her underwear as she bent forward and he called a halt to their sneaky action with a quick slam of the door. He caught sight of a couple of disgruntled disappointed faced before closing the blind and marching toward the files.

"Did you find everything?" he asked.

"These were all the ones in the cabinet you specified in the archives," she began, "some of these files are marked Fenchurch East, have they come here by mistake?"

Keats began to feel that same element of guilt creep over him again as he recalled the many secret meetings he'd orchestrated over the last few months during which Kim would come to him bearing gifts and leave in a trance with more than she bargained for.

"No, these are ours," he said quickly.

"Are you sure I shouldn't call them, just in case?" Victoria asked him, "they might be looking for -"

"You _deaf_ or something?" Keats snapped, "I said they're ours!"

Victoria drew back slightly. So far she'd not seen very much of her new DCI since he'd taken over a couple of months ago, but she was starting to strongly dislike what she was seeing of him.

"Alright," she said quietly, "I'm sorry, sir."

Keats began to dig around in the box atop the papers. His fingers closed around a cassette and a smile slowly spread across his face, beginning at his lips before taking over his eyes and the rest of his expression. He savoured it, taking in the name upon the label, and finally glanced back at Victoria.

"That's everything for now, DI Stone," he said.

Victoria hesitated. She wondered if he was about to switch and have another outburst but his interest in conversing with her seemed to have disappeared as the contents of the box and the files had taken priority. She nodded in silence and left the room before he could change his mind and bark at her again.

At the sound of the door shutting, Keats glanced up to make sure his DI had gone then slid the video tape out of its cardboard case.

"I'm going to enjoy this one," he said quietly to himself, "let's see how you arrived here _this_ time, DCI Shoebury.

A brief walk to the portable TV/Video combo in the corner of his office and a tape marked _'SIMON' _disappeared into the machine. He grabbed the remote and switched on the set, waiting for the picture to form before playing the video. He sat back in his _oh so comfortable _leather chair and crossed his legs. He felt like a kid waiting to watch a most anticipated horror movie when his parents had gone to bed.

"All that's missing is the girl selling ice creams and choc ices," he commented, the tape whirring and winding inside the machine. A moment later the fuzzy picture of _The Big Breakfast_ disappeared from the TV and in its place came a speeding car, travelling down a deserted road. A broad smile graced his face as he tried to decide between leaning back in his chair to relax for the best part or leaning forward to catch the full effect of the tape.

_"Please, Rob, I know you're angry but driving like this isn't going to help anyone! You don't even know where you're going!"_

"Straight to nineteen ninety five, apparently," Keats creed with glee. He reached out and slipped a file from under the box, opening it and glancing through while keeping his eye on the footage of the tape. The shot moved to one inside the car; Robin's expression full of anger while Simon's was desperate and scared.

_"I'm following the side road, it heads straight to the airfield. I'll bet he's got a plane on standby."_

Keats had almost forgotten about Robin. He wished he'd spent a little longer in 1995. He'd had such fun messing with his mind but could have enjoyed it a whole lot more. He'd barely even had a chance to start on the _'Oh, remember when you found me in bed with your boyfriend?' _wind ups and never even had a chance to offer a deal relating to the safety of his injured dog.

_"They'll have alerted the airport by now. Please, slow down!"_

The tape flickered and the picture rolled for a second, causing a scowl to form across his face. He leaned forward and aimed the remote at the screen, adjusted the tracking and things seemed to clear up. Back with the action, he took careful note of the increasing fear on Simon's face as Robin's driving became faster and more erratic.

_"I've got to get to him," _Robin's voice came over the speakers.

Keats gloated as he watched the two familiar faces yelling at each other, both men at the mercy of a car that was travelling too fast and a tree that had fallen in just the wrong place.

"Oh, Simon," he couldn't hold back the grin, "is this what I think it is? Could it be that your own boyfriend's _driving_ was the thing that brought you to a sticky end?"

_"And do what when you get there? Just listen to yourself! I know you love that dog but what do you think is going to happen if you get to the guy? Are you going to kill him? Punch him? What kind of charges are you going to face, Robin?"_

"Manslaughter by reckless driving by the looks of it!" Keats hooted, his excitement reaching epic proportions as he prepared for the climax of the video, desperate to see the moment that Simon was trapped in this world forever.

Before he reached it, the picture rolled again and this time the tracking did nothing to stop it. The images of Simon's demise cut out and rolled onto footage that seemed to have been recorded on the tape before it. Gradually, footage of the Channel 4 _Dispatches _ident cleared on the screen, along with the sub caption of '_Jim Keats: Where did it all go wrong?'_

"_What the…?" _He trailed off as his finger maniacally pressed the stop button but the tape kept on playing, its picture rolling every so often.

"…_The public should feel safe at the hands of our good officers and detectives,"_ a female presenter walked towards the camera in a long shot that took place outside a familiar hospital, _"the mental health of those brave men and women is of utmost importance. So what happens when the man in charge of ensuring the mental health of every officer in the country turns out to be deeply mentally and emotionally disturbed himself…"_

"Shit," Keats thumped the television but despite rolling again the picture remained.

"…_Back in nineteen ninety three, PC James Keats was a young cop on the beat.."_

He jabbed his finger at the eject button a few times and finally the tape began to emerge from the machine. It jammed half way and Keats yanked it out to reveal black tape spilling out from it, tangled inside of the machine. He swore profusely and tugged as much as he could from the slot. The tape finally snapped in two places, his present for Simon ruined beyond repair.

Anger boiled inside of him and before he could stop himself he marched to the door, throwing it open with such force that he almost gave his entire CID team instantaneous heart attacks.

"_Stone!" _he yelled, his nervous DI looking at him in alarm, "where did you get this stupid, shitty quality tape?" he threw it hard across the room where it struck the wall, shards of hard black plastic showering a shocked DC beside it.

Victoria's face visibly fell, her heart sinking at Keats's anger and disappointment. His temperament could change so quickly that she didn't know how to deal with it.

"I… I'm sorry, sir," she said hesitantly, "I only brought up the tape from the archives, I didn't know it was…"

"Can't be doing with shoddy equipment!" Keats interrupted, "if Betamax had won the video war this kind of thing wouldn't have happened!"

He turned around and stepped back into his office, slamming the door so hard behind him that the walls seemed to shake just a little. Several members of CID exchanged worried or confused glances while Victoria stood up and quietly excused herself from the room.

The other side of the door, Keats leaned back against the blind-covered glass, breathing heavily. His emotions were flying around all over the place, and as much as he tried to fight them they wouldn't leave him alone. His eyes turned to the TV set where static was fizzing and sparkling. His memory had already blocked out the images that had come forth beneath the tape of Simon's demise but the feelings of anxiety and anger remained.

In a fit of temper he grasped the rest of the files Victoria had found for him and threw them to the ground, then tossed the box of sundries across the room where it hit the filing cabinet and spilled the rest of its contents across the floor. A couple of other tapes bounced along the floor but didn't break, while packets of photographs flew open and shed their load.

He sank to the floor, unable to understand or control the feelings he was experiencing. He tried to work out where this had all started, where these rogue damn feelings had come from. The previous evening at the hospital? The day before when strange images had filtered through the TV screen? Before that? Was it when he realised a familiar face had made a permanent return to this world? When he first used his powerful hold to trap a lost young lady into an intimate relationship? Or when he first opened his eyes and found himself in 1995?

He wasn't sure. He just knew he didn't like it.

The most alien feeling of all was the sense of guilt that had started to creep into his senses. He couldn't even place what it was over, all he knew was that it was attached to Kim and was growing all the time. It was that feeling that drove him to get to his feet and prepare to pay her a visit. He needed to resolve the strange emotions or way or another before they ate him up inside.

At the last minute, a word on one of the fallen files caught his eye. He stooped down to pick it up and let it fall open. As he scanned the information something stood out to him. He could hardly believe it. He _had_ it. He _finally _had it! The one thing he had over Simon. The one bargaining chip to pull him over to his side. To steal Hunt's golden boy and to even out the odds.

He closed his eyes as a feeling of elation washed over him; the guilt and the anguish fading from his mind and his body. The smile that spread across his face was broad, smug and full of anticipation. For a moment his confusion was forgotten. The only place he intended to visit was Fenchurch East to put to Simon the deal he felt certain could not be refused.

This was going to be the day his fortunes turned around, permanently.


	57. Chapter 56: The Trump Card

**Chapter Fifty Six**

Simon already had a headache from Vickery's constant yelling and ranting. He wasn't cut out for this. He had neither Gene's no-nonsense _get on with it_ attitude nor Alex's gentle guidance. He hadn't been able to fid a single word to calm the newbie, nor had he managed to put him in his place. Eventually he'd led him to a computer in the corner of the room and left him with an enormous pile of unlabeled floppy disks.

"_Catalogue these,__"_he'd said, hoping upon hope that he hadn't just handed the man Gene's porn collection.

In complete contrast Simon also had a second team member who was as calm and natural as possible, the red-haired DC he'd met the day before had indeed belonged to the Hi-Tech Crimes division of CID and had been more than helpful in providing tea and biscuits for everyone, although not so helpful in providing her name.

Eventually Simon decided to find out for himself and reasoned that she must have some papers somewhere but despite searching high and low he couldn't find anything of the sort. He couldn't find any for Vickery either and began to grow concerned but soon recalled a brief conversation between Alex and Gene after his own arrival. When his own papers were missing and Gene had asked Alex to check her desk she'd claimed that Gene was the one who always received the papers. If those who worked for Alex had their papers sent to Gene then he supposed his own recruits may well do too.

"I just need to check something," Simon told Vickery who was glumly cataloguing a disk that appeared to contain humorous anagrams of the names of all the people Gene had nicked over the last 10 years, "will you be OK?"

Vickery stared at Simon. He was quickly beginning to realise that nothing in this place was 'OK', but didn't have the energy to argue again so he nodded instead.

"Fine," he said.

Simon felt a terrible pang of guilt as he left the room. He understood so clearly the reasons why he couldn't say anything to Vickery but that didn't make it any easier to hold back the truth and see a man in despair.

He made his way through CID, past a number of unfamiliar personnel and one familiar but unwanted face in the form of Thomas, the 'Fake Robin' as he'd been dubbed. He made a conscious effort to glare at him as he walked by.

He arrived at the door of Gene's office and peered in just in time to see Gene wiping something that appeared to be chocolate from behind his ear.

"Damn stuff gets everywhere," he mumbled and finally spotted Simon at the door. He hid his handkerchief abruptly. "Just because you've got yer own department now doesn't make you immune from knocking!" he said.

"Sorry," Simon felt a little awkward. He cleared his throat and stepped properly into the office, "Gene, do you know where I can find the papers for the red-haired girl in my new department? I don't know her name and I feel too awkward to ask."

"Don't want another Malcolm situation," Gene commented. He dragged a stack of papers over from one side of his desk and began to sort through them. _"__Mine__…__ mine__…__ Bolly__'__s__…__ Ah,__"_ he took a file from the stack, glanced at the name and handed it to Simon. "That's her. Lindsay Peters."

"Shit, that's not going to get confusing in the slightest, is it?" Simon commented sarcastically, "A Lindsay _Peters _and a _Peter_ Vickery in the same office."

"Yeah, you'll be wanting 'is an' all," Gene remembered, rooting through the pile again until he found a file with a familiar name and handed it to Simon.

"Great," Simon sighed, taking the second file.

"And how is Painted Peter getting on?" Gene asked.

Simon shook his head slowly.

"How do you do what you do, Gene?" he asked, "it's done my head in already. I don't know what to say to the guy!"

"You don't have to say anything" Gene began, "here's what you do: You get 'im by the collar, jam 'im into a filing cabinet and…"

Simon shook his head and held up his hand to halt Gene right there.

"I don't think that tactic's going to work for me," he said.

Gene shrugged, leaned back and put his feet on his desk.

"Your decision," he said.

Simon held the files up.

"Thanks for these," he said and turned to leave, stopping at the last minute to look back and say, "By the way - congratulations, Guv."

Gene tried hard to suppress a smile. Simon hadn't seen him smile yet, he certainly wasn't going to let him start now. Not if he wanted to keep up appearances.

"Appreciate the thoughts, Simon," said Gene, "but just so that we're clear - who do we tell about the whole… going to a jewellery shop thing?"

Simon smiled.

"No one," he said.

"That's right," said Gene, "Gene Hunt does not visit jewellery shops."

"No, Guv," smiled Simon.

"Good, glad we're clear about that," said Gene.

Simon gave a little, mock salute, then felt stupid and hastily left before Gene could mock him. He opened Vickery's file and started flicking through it as he took a slow walk back to his office. He closed the file as he got to the door and prepared to enter the room. As he stepped inside, the vision that greeted him was one he hadn't expected in a million years.

"Hello, Simon," Keats sat casually in his chair, swivelling round from side to side.

Simon's heart felt as though it stopped dead in his chest for a moment.

"Keats," he hissed.

"Is that your car outside?" Keats asked, jabbing his thumb towards the window, "pretty flashy. Right little Gene in the making, aren't you?" he flipped his legs up onto the desk and crossed his feet. "You want to be careful though, leaving a car like that outside a place like this. You can get all kinds of… unsavoury stains on the back seat."

He left a smug smile hanging in the air as Simon looked on, torn between anger and fear at finding Keats waiting for him. He glanced around anxiously.

"Where's Vickery?" he demanded, "what have you done with him?"

"I gave him some dinner money and sent him to the canteen," said Keats, "we needed a bit of alone time."

"What are you even doing here?" Simon cried, "you might have been right when you said we can't make anything stick this time, but soon you'll do something - I don't know what, but you'll do _something_ - and we'll have your bollocks on a plate." he leaned forward, leaning against his desk, his anger at Keats flowing forth like a river.

"This isn't about me," Keats told him, peering through his spectacles, "it's about you."

"What _about_ me?"

"You know, I'd started thinking I wouldn't find a way to get to you," Keats began, the smile never leaving his face, "even _I _started to believe that you were untouchable. I thought there was nothing I could do or say to bring you to my side."

"And you were right," said Simon, "so whatever you had in mind you can save it and get lost."

He grabbed Keats's feet and pushed them firmly off the desk where they thumped on the floor, almost sending him toppling out of the chair. Keats looked a little surprised by Simon's bold response and opened his eyes a little wider. He got to his feet and held up a file that he'd been holding just out of sight.

"Look what I've got here," he said.

"What's that? This month's edition of _What Bastard?_ magazine?" snapped Simon.

"Your papers," smiled Keats.

Simon froze for a moment, then tried to make a snatch for them. Keats pulled them back with an admonishing noise.

"What the hell are you doing with those?" he cried.

"Found them this morning," said Keats, "You see, your friend Kimberley had been very helpful in the last few months. She's do me little favours… bringing me papers, setting up cameras… and in return I gave her-"

"We all know what you gave her," Simon spat.

Keats smiled amiably.

"She's a nice girl, just a bit mixed up," he said.

"She's languishing in hospital right now because of you!"

As Simon spoke he saw one of Keats's eyelids twitch, just a little, like a nervous reaction as he tried to block out the nagging thoughts of Kim that were trying to force their way back into his mind.

"Well, in any case" he fought the emotions that were threatening to approach him again, "she turned up some very useful files for me."

Simon hesitated.

"Wait a minute… you only found you had this this morning?" he asked, "You had my file all this time and you didn't know?" Something about this didn't make sense to Simon. Surely if Keats knew Simon was back then using his papers against him somehow would have been his first course of action.

"I'm still going though some of the papers Kim brought me," said Keats, "yours just happened to be in the pile today."

"You mean you didn't ask her for mine specifically?" Simon frowned.

Keats began to get frustrated and twitchy. This wasn't quite going in the direction he'd planned.

"She stole a lot of files!" he cried, "I'm a busy man! I didn't have time to study them all!"

Simon shook his head slowly. If Keats wasn't asking he to steal specific files for his evil purpose then why did he keep asking her to acquire more and more. Something began to dawn on him.

"You just wanted to see _her,_ didn't you?" he said quietly.

Keats could feel blood rushing to his cheeks and anger starting to boil inside him.

"Don't be stupid."

"You wanted her to get particular things at first," Simon carried on, "but then you just wanted excuses to keep meeting up with her…"

"Stop."

"…To keep sleeping with her…"

A dozen images flashed into Keats' mind as Simon's words began to bring back the emotions that he'd been able to banish temporarily with the discovery of a certain file. A flash of his own foot stretching out and meeting forcefully with Kim's abdomen took over his field of vision and caused him to visibly convulse and judder as a wave of guilt and anguish passed through every limb. He closed his eyes and shook his head hard to drag himself out of it and focused all his energy and strength on barking out a single word to break the spell.

"_Enough!__"_

His tone was angry and forceful. It brought Simon's train of thought to an end. This was more like the Keats he knew and feared. He took a step back and watched as Keats leaned towards him, just a little. "These are really dumb questions coming from someone whose whole history I'm holding in my hand."

Simon appreciated the alliteration in his sentence but still didn't understand what Keats was doing there or what his plans for Simon were.

"Then tell me what you want," he said.

Keats let the file fall open and began to scan the pages.

"Oh dear," he said quietly, "Simon Shoebury, born in nineteen seventy eight, died in two thousand and ten. Cause of death, massive internal injuries and aggravation of a previous brain injury, both caused by a fatal car crash. And who was driving the car?" he glanced at Simon, watched him staring back. Were his eyes deceiving him or could he sense a tremble? "Ahh yes, one _Robin Thomas_, how did the news describe him? Oh, right - partner and colleague. He wasn't very happy that day, was he? Our friend Nailer had just shot his favourite sniffer dog." Simon's stare never faltered. Keats could feel his eyes boring into him. "So angry, wan't he? Out of control, almost. Persuaded you to get in the car with him, even though you knew he was in no fit state to drive." He watched Simon's adam's apple move as he swallowed hard, trying to keep both his anger and his tears at bay. "And although you did everything you could… said everything you could possibly say… he just wouldn't stop speeding along, would he? What did you hit, Simon? Was it a fallen tree? Well, that's what the report says here, anyway."

Simon spoke in slow, measured tones.

"Whatever you are trying to do to me, it's not working," he said, "I don't blame Robin for what happened. Not in any way."

"_You _don't, but the department investigating the accident doesn't share your opinion," said Keats. He noticed that Simon's demeanour change with those words and allowed himself a celebratory gloat. He took a step forward and glowered at him. "Practically as soon as Robin opened his eyes he was charged."

A giant lump rose in Simon's throat. He felt bile rising in his chest.

"With what?" he whispered.

"Manslaughter," Keats smiled, "caused by reckless driving. They arrested him for your death, Simon. Your boyfriend was arrested for dangerous driving leading to your sudden demise." The pleasure across his face was easy to see. "Oh, the _poor_ Man… not only wasn't he able to go to your funeral but he found himself questioned almost as soon as he could speak again!" One more step took him close enough that Simon could smell that morning's coffee on his breath. "You know the _really_ tragic part in all of this?" he sneered.

Simon began to feel weak and struggled to find the words to reply.

"What?" he whispered eventually.

"The fire crews at the scene found that ring in your pocket. The one you bought for Robin the first time?" he noticed Simon's eyes flitting to his finger where the near-identical ring that the disappearing Robin left behind from his 1995 proposal sat comfortably. "Your father gave it to Robin. He told him they found it on your body, and the poor, distraught man wore it! There he was in two thousand and ten, wearing a ring you never got to give to him, like he was actually still engaged to you, even though you were dead!"

"That ring was for Robin," Simon snapped, "it doesn't matter whether I'm there with him or not. It's his to wear."

Keats hesitated and pretended to read some more of the file.

"Oh, _wait,__"_he began, "did I say that was the really tragic part?" he smiled. "I lied. The _really _tragic part is that Robin… so consumed with guilt about your death and terrified of going to jail… kills himself on new year's eve, two thousand and ten."

Simon's face began to crumple with shock.

"_What?__"_

"Can't take any more," Keats smiled, "so sure they're going to find him guilty, he downs a _lot _of pills and slips away."

Simon shook his head.

"You're wrong," he whispered.

"It's all in your file."

"You've faked it."

"So take it to Hunt," said Keats, "ask him. Ask him if it's genuine. He'll tell you."

"Robin isn't responsible," Simon whispered, "it was an accident. It could have happened to anyone."

Keats gave a sigh.

"And if only he'd held on a few more weeks," he began, "then he would have seen that the inquest agreed with you." His malevolent smile grew wider. "Despite Robin's state of mind the inquest found him not to be driving at unreasonable speed considering the nature of his pursuit and that the fallen tree was an accident waiting to happen. Verdict: Accidental death." An extra glimmer entered his eye. "Guess who gets first dibs on suicides, Simon?"

The look on Simon's face as he met Keats's stare brought him such pleasure, such incredible satisfaction that it almost made him close his eyes in delight.

"Keep away from Robin," Simon spat.

"Now, the return of somebody who has been here before is not an exact science," Keats began to sound like a lecturer, "some have gone right back into the moment they disappeared. Others - like you - skip a few years. Robin will probably show up… ooh, around two thousand and four, maybe. So that's about nine years before he arrives. The moment he does, he's going to be there in Fenchurch West, working under me."

"Get to the point, Keats," Simon snapped through gritted teeth.

"How well I treat him depends on your decision now," Keats began, "you've got two options. I'll lay them out for you as simply as I can. Number one - you transfer to Fenchurch West, right now."

"Fuck off."

"Work alongside me. There's room for someone like you in CID."

"There's room for someone like _you_ in the funny farm!"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Keats continued, "you're a good DCI. You know your stuff. Forget all the extras - I want Fenchurch West to be a respected and efficient station. Despite the… the _added extras _for some of us, what we all want to do underneath that is to keep the streets clean. Agreed?" He paused, waiting for Simon to comment but no response came. "All you have to do is work with me. Even up the score a bit. You don't need to rush to the dying ones, Simon. You leave that to me, and just do your job as a bloody good detective."

"And what happens to Robin?" Simon asked dryly.

"Robin arrives in eight… nine… maybe ten years down the line," said Keats, "big reunion, lovely dovey stuff, wedding, happy ever after." He smiled amiably, "I'll even be your best man!"

"That's not a speech I'd ever want to hear," Simon shuddered.

"You'll get to work side by side for eternity, Simon. You and Robin. You're a team on the job as well as at home. I saw the way you worked together here. Not going to break up a team like that. There'll be plenty of rewards for you both. I'll be nice. Pay rise, promotion - you and Robin will be living it up, just for making one little transfer."

Simon stared at Keats and swallowed hard.

"And if I don't?" he whispered.

Keats took a deep breath in and began to pace a little.

"Well, that would be a very tragic story for you both," he began, "because I'd have to ensure that you never saw Robin again. The moment he arrives he'll find himself hidden well away from you. I'll lose him so deep in the system he'll never cross your path."

"There are ways around that," Simon said angrily.

"Well even if there were," Keats snarled, "Robin's not going to want to see you. He's not going to want to look you in the eye. Not by the time I've finished with him."

Suddenly the situation began to feel so much darker and heavier than it had a moment before.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"I'm going to destroy every last piece of life inside that man. I'm going to grind him down and make him beg for death all over again. You know what happened when you crossed me before, Simon." Without warning he reached out and grabbed the hair on the side of Simon's head securely between his fingers, pulling it hard towards him as Simon let out an agonised scream. "Remember what I did to you in two thousand and ten?" he spat, "I'm going to make that seem like a walk in the park compared to what I'm going to do to Robin."

He pulled Simon closer, twisting his head until his ear was a millimetre away from his mouth, where he hissed and whispered a threat that turned Simon's stomach so severely that he retched and gagged in revulsion and distress. His words were simple and unadorned, there was no need to overdress them. He left Simon in no doubt what he would do to Robin if he refused to leave Fenchurch East and step over to the dark side.

As he finished delivering the words that killed Simon's heart in an instant, he pushed his head away and straightened his coat. He watched Simon stagger and stumble angst the wall, retching into a bin and struggling to cope with Keats's evil intentions. With one last sneer he thrust Simon's file onto the desk and walked smoothly to the door.

"You think it over, Simon," he said, "no rush. And don't worry about calling me - I'll find you. I'll always be there, just around the corner." he smiled. "Just like I've always been since the day we first met."

His exit was as fast and smooth as his unwelcome arrival and left Simon screaming both inside his head and out. Torture, torment, anguish, despair - his expression twisted and contorted as he screamed and flailed, the memory of Keats's burning breath delivering the darkest of threats straight into his ear. No longer in control of his own actions he lifted his name block from the desk and hurled it across the room, leaving a slight dent in the wall, then grasped a tray of files and threw it as far as he was able. He watched myriad papers float to the ground like overgrown snowflakes.

"_Nyyyyyaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!__"_his screams were almost inhuman as he lifted Vickery's chair and smashed it against the floor, losing half of the base and an arm as he did so. With every action, every violent motion, he desperately longed for release, for an answer to strike him, but nothing came, Nothing beyond further pain and desperation.

Alerted by the commotion, Alex raced into the room and found Simon's brutal attack on his office in progress. The shock across her face was plain and unhidden, the sight of Simon behaving in such a way so completely unlike anything she could have pictured.

"_Simon!_" she cried, torn between rushing to restrain him and staying clear of him until he calmed down a little, _"__SIMON!__"_

Simon glanced around and saw her. He stopped lashing out but couldn't stop the screaming.

"He's got it," yelled Simon, "he's found the trump card."

"Who has?" Alex held her hands up calmly.

"_Keats!__"_Simon spat in fury.

"Simon, calm right down," Alex tried "Calm down and tell me what he's done."

Simon finally stopped thrashing and stood still, staring straight at her, while his chest was wracked with uneven breaths, trying to bring the oxygen back to his system.

"He's done it now," he whispered, eyes laden with fear, "he has one over on me, and it doesn't matter what I do, I lose."

"What are you saying?"

Simon picked up his papers and thrust them at Alex.

"He had _these_, Alex. He had them all along and _apparently,__"_ he said in anger, "only read them this morning. It's all in here - Robin…"

Alex took the file, her hands trembling a little as she opened it, not sure what she was going to find.

"What's in here?" she asked quietly and realised that Simon's eyes had filled quite instantly with tears.

"They charge Robin for causing my death," he whispered, "reckless driving. And even when the inquest proves otherwise it's already too late." His body gave up and collapsed beneath him, tumbling to the ground as his anguished voice cried, "he _kills _himself, Alex. He kills himself because he can't cope with the guilt, and Keats gets his soul."

"How do you know Keats will get him?" Alex tried to scan the information as fats as she could.

"Look at that station of his!" cried Simon "Fenchurch West… it's the dark version of here. That's what Keats has created it to be. Because it's a suicide he'll get Robin's soul. He's already told me that."

"He might not."

Simon shook his head slowly. He couldn't explain how but he knew in his heart that Keats had been telling the truth. It was the same instinct about things that Gene and Alex had developed through their years in this world. He was just starting to feel it too.

"So I get a choice,"he whispered, "either I betray you and Gene, go to work for Keats and get reunited with Robin a few years down the line, or…" his eyes closed as violent waves of nausea rose inside of him, "Keats…" he tried to speak, to tell Alex the words that Keats had imparted to him but they were so vile, so evil that he couldn't speak of them. His mouth moved in silence for a few moments, trying to tell her but he couldn't let them out. They had hurt him in a way he thought no words ever could.

Alex stared at him, terrified by the panic and repulsion that gripped his features. At a loss for what to say or do she whispered a quick reassurance and quickly rushed away to find Gene. This wasn't something any one of them could tackle alone. Whatever Keats's threat had been she had never seen Simon - nor anyone - with such a level of anguish across their face.

She only hoped that Gene had an answer, a solution, anything at all, because in the blink of an eye their world seemed as close as ever to falling apart, just as Simon's heart already had.


	58. Chapter 57: The Frothinator

**Chapter Fifty Seven**

Alex peered cautiously around the door. Simon was sitting in exactly the same spot as he was when she left him, with exactly the same expression on his face and his body in the same pose. It was as though someone paused him and left him in stasis until she returned.

"There he is," she said unnecessarily to Gene.

He looked around the door and exhaled loudly.

"Blimey, you were not exaggerating, Bolly," he sighed, "he looks like someone just made geekery illegal."

"You'd better speak to him," Alex said quietly, placing one hand against his chest and politely but firmly pushing him into Simon's office where he stumbled a little and felt like a bit of an idiot, glancing at Alex with a frown. He straightened up his suit and stepped in front of Simon.

Simon was vaguely aware of a pair of boots appearing before him, the owner of which started to stoop down until he was on a similar eye line. A half-finished bottle of scotch joined the scene in front of him.

"You don't 'ave to drink this," Gene's voice began, "but thought it was worth a try."

Gradually Simon conceded and let his head raise enough to look Gene in the eye.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"I haven't seen this much devastation in CID since Kite lost 'er first aid kit and turned the place upside down looking for it," he said. Simon didn't even raise a smile. "Must be serious if my _Big Book o' CID Jokes _isn't working on you."

Simon looked at Gene grimly.

"Is it real?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"The file?"

Gene pulled the rolled up paperwork from his trouser pocket and unravelled it. He stared at Simon, wishing he could give him a different answer but he couldn't lie.

"'Fraid so," he said.

"_Shit."_

Gene looked down. He wasn't sure what he could do or say. The situation was about as grim as it ever could be. He took a deep breath and sat down next to Simon, his back to the wall.

"Last time I found meself sitting on the floor I was -" he began but Simon cut him off.

"I don't want to know what position you and Alex were in, thank you very much," he snapped.

Gene shook his head.

"OK, _second_ to last time," he said, "I was on the receiving end of the Keats treatment too."

Simon breathed as deeply as his lungs would allow but couldn't quite take in enough oxygen.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he said.

"What were yer options?" Gene asked.

"_Options," _Simon repeated with a sarcastic laugh, "some options."

"Drake says he wants you over at Fenchurch West for 'is own little kingdom."

Simon nodded.

"Yeah."

Gene hesitated and took in a deep breath.

"And?"

"And what?"

"You going to do it?"

Simon glanced at Gene. Despite his casual tone his expression was anxious. Simon understood how much was riding on this for Gene as much as for himself and Robin. He gave a sigh.

"Gene…"

"So you're thinking about it?" Gene said grimly.

Simon wished he could deny it, but he just couldn't lie.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Gene looked at him seriously.

"You know what that would mean for us? What that would mean for this whole place?"

"I don't _want_ to do it!" Simon protested, "but the alternative…"

"What _is_ the alternative?" Gene asked him. Simon's eyes focused firmly on the floor. He couldn't even look at Gene. "Come on, Shoebury, if you're not going to tell me the whole story then you might as well give in, pack yer bags and walk out right now. I thought we'd come too far for that."

Simon shook his head firmly.

"You don't want to know," he said quietly.

"I don't want to know or you don't want to tell me?"

Simon closed his eyes.

"Both," he whispered.

"Do I need to give you a demonstration of the filing cabinet thing I told you about earlier or are you gonna tell me?" Gene asked.

Despite himself Simon gave something approaching a sideways smile, just for a split second. He hated to admit that he'd come to respect Gene's methods. As primitive as some of them were, they did get results.

"Believe me, Gene," Simon stared at his hands, "if I could tell you I would."

A couple of feet wandered into Simon's field of vision as Alex entered the room. She walked past Gene and Simon, then sank to the floor alongside them.

"Can you tell _me_?" she asked. Simon glanced at her, unsure whether his voice could even bear to communicate the words. "Come on, Simon," she urged, "this is _me._ I was the one who stayed on your couch to protect you from Gordon the Gopher in nineteen eighty five!" she was glad to see a spark of fondness in Simon's pained expression as he remembered that first night in the past. "Just whisper it."

Simon looked at her. He recalled the promise he made by her bed in 2010 - friends for life. The words Keats had left stinging in his ear were destroying him inside. He leant forward and, despite his a wave of nausea trying to hold him back, he let those foul, repugnant threats spill from his lips in the quietest whisper that dissolved into unexpected tears.

A look of horror spread instantly across Alex's face, her eyes wide and her mouth open slightly, hanging with words of anger and revulsion she couldn't quite communicate. Her eyes told Gene enough that he knew it was time to act, and without delay.

"Oh god," she whispered, "Gene, he-"

"Hold that thought," Gene said quickly, "I hear these walls have ears." he stood up, grasping his bottle and turned to Alex and Simon, "just in case Metal Mickey left any additional surveillance devices we've not found yet I recommend we move this meeting of the Keats Victim Support Group to me favourite hot beverage dispensary."

Alex glanced from Gene back to Simon as he held his head in his hands. His words had disturbed her so deeply she couldn't imagine how Simon himself was still functioning.

"Let's go, Simon," she said. She reached out to help him to his feet. "We _will_ find a way out of this. There _has_ to be an alternative."

Simon allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and as though in some kind of trance he followed them silently out of the door. He couldn't imagine how they could ever find an alternative, he couldn't imagine any kind of answer coming forth, no matter how many lattes Gene consumed. He longed for a miracle he didn't believe for a moment he was going to get.

~xXx~

"I'm just going to the bathroom," Alex said as Gene put down the tray of coffees and assorted snacks, an echo of the previous day.

Gene frowned as he watched her stand up and leave.

"Bloody women," he said, "you'd think there was a bowling alley or something in there, amount of time they spend in the bathroom." He picked up a few sugars and looked at Simon, whose head was buried in his hands again. "Come on, Shoebury. You've got to tell me. Doesn't matter what it is." He waited but Simon didn't move. "Tell me."

Simon finally glanced at Gene.

"You know," he began quietly, "every time I think things can't get any worse, they manage to spiral downwards, further out of control. One minute I'm gearing up to propose - then I'm in a massive car crash. Surely that's as bad as things can get, but no! I wake up - in _nineteen ninety five! _And by some miracle Robin's here too - but surprise surprise, he vanishes! But it's OK, because I'm going to wake up too…. Oh, no, wait - I can't I'm dead! And then I turn into some kind of soul sucking mutant…"

"_Watch it," _frowned Gene.

"…and you'd think after all that I could at least jump of a cliff and find sweet, blessed relief but no! Joke upon joke, I'm indestructible! And just when I thought things couldn't get _any_ worse than that, Keats is on my tail with the ultimate in revenge!" he paused with a deep sigh. "That, and I haven't had a poo since I came to nineteen ninety five."

"Look, Simon," Gene began, "all the things that… you _what?"_

"Never mind."

Gene sighed.

"All the things you've 'ad to put up with in the last…" he paused. "It's been five _days?"_

"That wasn't the most important part of my speech, Hunt!" Simon cried, blushing furiously, "I never meant to mention it, it just _slipped out_!" he blushed more furiously as Gene peered around the side of his chair, "not _literally…"_

Gene cleared his throat and began adding sugars to his drink.

"Anyway," he continued, "the crap you've been through in the last few days,"

"Can we stop mentioning crap please," Simon said despondently.

"…only goes to show that you've got a job to do here and for whatever reason it had to be you. If you give in to Jimbo and start eating out of 'is hand you might as well have thrown Susannah in a pit of flames."

Gene's words shocked Simon. It was the first time since Keats had made his offer that Simon stopped to think about the actual consequences that giving in to Keats would have.

"He said I wouldn't have to do the soul stuff," he tried to justify it.

"Since when did you start believing Keats?"

"Since the alternative was…" Simon began but trailed off.

"Whatever he said to you, believe me, there are no circumstances bad enough to have to trust Keats."

"You don't understand, Gene," Simon shook his head, "you don't know what he did to me back home."

Gene breathed in deeply and pulled Simon's file from his pocket again.

"I do now," he said grimly,. He threw the file on the table in front of Simon. "It's all in 'ere."

Simon looked at Gene with wide eyes; wide and terrified eyes. Since arriving in the past, back in Gene's world, there were moments of his 2010 confrontation with Keats that he'd kept very securely to himself. Things he couldn't bear to share. Just the vaguest hints, the briefest explanation that he had given while at the hands of Keats with the others in the basement had caused him dreadful flashbacks. He could never go into any more detail. Now, seeing Gene holding the full story in his hands, knowing he had read every word, brought anger and nausea up inside of him again.

"That has no place even being in that file," he spat.

"There was a full inquest," said Gene, "it was always going to be in your file."

Simon looked down, his cheeks blazing. Knowing that Gene had read everything, every detail of the most terrifying, humiliating and demoralising event of his life made him feel about two inches tall.

"I wish that file had stayed lost," he whispered.

Gene wished there was some other way of doing this, but he needed Simon to tell him everything if they had any hope of finding a way out.

"So what did he tell you?" he asked, "what is he going to do?"

Simon couldn't meet Gene's line of vision. He stared at the table, at the sugar sachets, at the ring on his finger - anywhere except at Gene.

"He said," he whispered, "that if he gets his hands on Robin, he'll do it to him for real. And that's just to start with."

Gene swallowed. He wished that he could tell Simon that Keats was bluffing but he knew Keats well enough to know he'd stoop to anything.

"Do you believe him?" he asked.

"I've seen too much to think otherwise."

Gene lifted his sugar-filled latte.

"And if you transfer," he began, "you really think Keats will keep 'is word?"

"_I_ don't know, Gene," Simon cried, "but there is more chance of him keeping a promise than there is of him _not_ carrying out his threats."

"You can't be seriously thinking about it?"

"Wouldn't _you_ if it was _Alex?"_

Gene hesitated. It very nearly _had_ been Alex. He remembered a frantic, desperate entrance just in the nick of time, many years ago, with gas and air filtering around the room and his Bolly, a moment away from succumbing to Keats's hypnotic demands.

"So what _do _you want to do?" he asked quietly.

"Die," Simon said decisively.

"Wrong answer, try again," said Gene.

"Then I don't know!" Simon threw his hands in the air, "do you think I haven't gone this over and over in the last half an hour? Do you think I'm any closer to coming up with a solution? I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't!"

"Whatever it looks like, you've nothing to gain by going to the dark side," Gene told him firmly.

"What do _you_ know?" Simon mumbled, "it might be the only way to protect Robin."

"You'd sell your soul to 'im would you? After everything?" Gene couldn't believe Simon was even considering it, "after what he did to you? Here, there, here again… he's followed you round like a time-travelling bad penny and made your torture his number one pastime! He probably puts it on his CV - _Interests: bird watching, playing the trombone and making Shoebury's life an absolute bloody misery!"_

"Well what _should_ I do? Eh?" Simon cried, jumping to his feet and slamming his fists onto the table, "I love Robin! He's my priority! Not you, not your stupid station, not this bloody fake world you've created!"

"Right," Gene got to his feet and leaned across the table, vaguely aware of people starting to stare, "calm down, _sit _down and _shut up."_

"_Ooh, lover's tiff,"_ an old woman at the table next to them commented.

"You want seven sugars down yer neck?" Gene threatened.

"Leave her alone - and don't tell me to sit down and shut up!" Simon cried.

"Well you were talking a whole encyclopaedia-worth of bollocks about going over to Jimbo's side!" cried Gene.

"To protect Robin!"

"And to flush me and Bols down the bog!" cried Gene, "which is more than can be said for your constipation…"

"Will you stop focusing on my backside?" cried Simon.

"Why should I? that's what Robin does, isn't it?"

"Oh, I _knew_ it!"

"What?"

"You've not changed one bit, have you?"

"Listen, Pal, I'm trying to save your arse from frying in hell here!"

"_Again _with my arse!"

"_What's this?" _a woman walking past with a tall glass asked.

"_I think it's a piece of performance art," _someone else commented.

"_Ooh, they're very good, aren't they?"_

"Shoebury, you'd better sort yourself out," Gene said angrily, "you're fighting the wrong man here. _I'm_ the one who's on your side. I'm not the enemy. I'm not the one who's threatening to do 'orrible things to Robin."

"No, you're the one who expects me to stand by and let _Keats_ do them!"

"Now listen…"

"To what? Your prehistoric claptrap?"

Gene reached across the table and grasped Simon by the shirt, pulling him forward so hard he spilled a sea of latte across the table.

"_Shut up and listen," _he cried, "before you end up with my fist down yer gob. I am telling you _right now_ that becoming Jimbo's fluffer isn't going to do a thing. It'll leave Fenchurch East vulnerable - it'll leave me and Alex vulnerable, and more than that it'll leave _you_ vulnerable because you'll be green, wet behind the ears and you won't have us there to protect you."

"I don't need protecting," Simon spat, trying to pull Gene's hands from his shirt but to no avail.

"Oh yeah?" Cried Gene, "doesn't look that way from where I'm standing."

"Get your hands off me!"

"Make me!"

Gene instantly regretted challenging Simon to that. While Simon's strength and build were far les than Gene's his anger and frustration gave him double the force that he would usually have behind his fists and despite trying to dodge out of the way at the last moment Simon's punch caught him awkwardly on the jaw.

Gene found himself tumbling backwards into someone's skinny mochaccino, hot liquid and a little foam spreading across the back of his trousers. Anger and embarrassment rising inside of him, he scrambled upright and prepared to launch himself at Simon.

"_Right,"_ he cried as his jaw throbbed and threw himself toward Simon. He grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around and slammed him against the wall as lattes and muesli bars flew in all directions. A couple of staff rushed from behind the counter but the tussle was in full flight and no one was quite sure how to approach them without getting a fist in the eye.

Just as Simon head butted Gene at the exact same moment that Gene slammed a knee somewhere that managed to catch Simon in both the guts and the crown jewels simultaneously Alex returned from the bathroom to find the café in uproar. For a moment she thought there had been some kind of earthquake or riot but to her absolute horror at the centre of the chaos she found Gene and Simon trying to get each other in a headlock.

In a panic she ran through the crowd, knocking coffee drinkers left, right and centre, amid cries of, _"ten quid on the blonde one," "His technique is rudimentary but the power behind that punch shows real skill," _and _"Is it wrong to be sooooo turned on right now?"_

"_Stop _it!" she cried, "What the hell do you both think you're doing?"

She grasped Gene by the shoulders and pulled him away as he prepared to kick Simon in the shin.

"He wants to go to the dark side," he snapped.

"I don't want to do any such thing!" cried Simon, "I just don't have a choice!"

"For goodness sake," Alex held Gene as firmly as she could, "I was only gone five minutes and all hell has broken loose!"

"See?" cried Gene, "You see? None of this would have happened if you bloody women don't spend so long in the bathroom!"

A large, muscular man with facial hair, tattoos and a frilly apron bearing the slogan _'I Love -' _followed by a silhouette of a coffee cup appeared, looming over them. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him guiltily.

"Are you going to leave quietly," he began, "or do I have to turn _The Frothinator_ on you?"

Gene and Simon didn't know what _The Frothinator _was but neither wanted to stick around to find out. Guiltily they picked themselves up off the floor, mumbled some half hearted apologies and slunk out of the café.

Once outside, Alex led them a few paces away before turning her full wrath on the pair.

"What is the mater with you?" she cried, "both of you! One minute we come out to form a plan to conquer Keats' latest scheme, the next you're rolling on the ground, tearing each other to shreds!"

"_He _started it," Simon said childishly.

"I don't care who started it!" Alex felt like a teacher scolding two troublesome teens for fighting in the playground, "For goodness sake, Keats may as well have already won if he's got the two of you tearing chunks out of each other!"

Gene and Simon glanced at each other. Her word rang true. Neither wanted to admit to it but she was right. Perhaps, Simon wondered, this was as much a part of Keats's plan as anything; to pit him against the others and leave him with no option but to transfer. He glanced down.

"Sorry, Alex," he said, "we just had a… a bit of a difference of opinion about how to deal with Keats."

"Got a bit too much testosterone flying around in that place," Gene mumbled, "maybe I'll switch to espresso."

As the cold November air seeped through torn clothes and stinging wounds the two men began to realise the stupidity of their fight. Both felt like a pair of idiots and neither wanted to admit it. Eventually, exhausted from their ruckus they both sank to the floor and sat on the curb. Silence descended for a few moments. Just as things were beginning to feel really awkward Simon eventually decided to be the bigger man.

"I'm sorry," he said, "you know I would never go to Keats's side. I'd never betray you and Alex. I just don't know what other option I've got to save Robin here." he paused. "And I'm sorry about your jaw. And your head."

Gene rubbed the side of his face where Simon's punch had shaken him up.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "and I suppose I'm… _sorry_ too," he said a little haughtily, "I'm sorry Keats got yer file. And for kicking you in the bollocks." He paused. "And I'm sorry you're full of shit."

"Gene!" Alex cried, aghast.

"No, Bolly," Gene shook his head, "he actually is… full of shit." He did a vague re-enactment of someone flushing a toilet, complete with sound effects, then pointed at Simon and mouthed something.

"Oh great," Simon cried, throwing his hands in the air, "I was just sitting here thinking how much I wished more people were aware of my constipation!"

Gene glanced at Alex and mouthed, _"five days."_

"_Five DAYS?"_ Alex mouthed back, momentarily caught by Simon and pretended to turn her shocked face into a yawn. She scratched her head and looked around. "Listen, there is _nothing _to be achieved by sitting here for the rest of the day, wondering which one of you will get your feet run over first. We need to go somewhere else, somewhere safe and talk about this. _Properly._ We need to decide what to do."

"There's nothing I _can _do," Simon said quietly, "There are only two options. Either I leave Fenchurch East and sell my soul to Keats ,or Robin…" he stopped and flinched, "Robin…"

"There's got to be another option," Gene said firmly.

"There isn't."

"There's _always_ a third option," Gene insisted.

"There's got to be another way," Alex agreed, "but we need to think about it - _calmly." _

Simon stared at the cards whizzing by, a millimetre from his feet and sighed.

"We can go to my flat," he said quietly, "no one there but a pair of noisy guinea pigs."

Alex nodded.

"Let's go," she said.

Gene glanced at her.

"You sure you want to go there, Bols?" he asked.

Alex bit her lip hesitantly. The thought of revisiting the place that had been her home so many years ago made her feel a little awkward but she knew she's probably have to face it sooner or later.

"I'm fine," she said, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Besides, _mine's_ off limits," she reminded Gene, "until we get the chocolate stains out of the carpet."

Gene nodded.

"Very true," he commented and climbed to his feet, dusting down his trousers. "Alright Shoebury, let's see yer flat. But I'm warning you - any more than a twenty-five percent concentration of geekery in the air and I'm leaving!"


	59. Chapter 58: Venture Into Geekdom

**Chapter Fifty Eight**

Gene felt awkward looking around Simon's flat as he let them in and led them through. He recalled many times when he'd been there, more than a decade in the past. The home belonged to someone very different back then. His fears of mass geekery were partly founded but despite the occasional X-Files poster, some Red Dwarf videos and a window sticker saying _"I've Done It In Starbug'_ Gene found the nerd-dom to remain at an acceptable level. He glanced across the room and felt a peculiar sinking feeling as he saw the very spot he'd shared a dance with Alex, twelve years earlier.

As though understanding what was going through his mind Alex reached out her hand to hold his and squeezed it. He glanced at her, a moment's gaze exchanging countless memories and moments.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Simon told them, heading to the kitchen, "Coffee?"

Alex felt shivers travelling down her spine. It felt very strange to be back.

"Yes, please," she said quietly.

"Oi, Shoebury," Gene called out, "I never got me latte because of you!"

"You'll just have to have regular coffee," Simon told him, "like it or lump it."

"Look, Simon, I need me morning latte or the Gene Genie brain does not work properly…"

"Then I'll bung a load of milk in it!" Simon said exasperatedly before the clanking of mugs took over.

They sank onto the couch, both feeling strange still about the wealth of memories they attached to the place. Alex noticed a growing bruise on Gene's forehead.

"Simon got you square on the head, didn't he?" she commented, reaching out to touch it gently.

Gene flinched a little.

"And on me jaw, he rubbed it and adjusted it slightly, "I think I've lost a filling."

They waited for Simon to reappear with three steaming hot mugs and join them in the lounge.

"'s not quite the same, is it?" Gene moped.

"Well it's the best you're going to get out of me," said Simon.

Alex picked up her mug, her expression growing deathly serious.

"We need to talk about Keats," she said.

Immediately the tone of the atmosphere dropped. It was not a conversation anyone wanted to have but could well be the most important one of their lives.

"He's holding the ace," Simon said quietly, "he knows that I'll do anything for Robin, to save him, and he also knows that _I_ know he'll seriously carry out his threats and enjoy every last moment of them too. He's crazy, he's sadistic."

"There has to be another option," Alex began, "I refuse to believe the situation is so cut and dried."

"The file wasn't lying, Bolly," Gene said grimly, "it wasn't a fake. It wasn't something Keats knocked up on 'is old bubble jet printer. It's the real deal."

Simon felt his heart sink into his stomach. Quite aside from Keats and his threats, the concept of what Robin was going through killed him inside. The thought of him being charged with manslaughter by dangerous driving, and for _his_ death, made him want to cry and scream until his throat was raw. The concept of Robin committing suicide tore him up internally to the point where he wanted to stop breathing and fade away. After everything Robin had been through, to give up so easily on life seemed like the most tragic story of all.

"Isn't there any way of changing the past?" he whispered, "I mean… the future? Is there no way of getting a message to Robin?"

Alex looked at him sadly.

"I wish it worked that way," she whispered.

"Besides," Gene began, "wouldn't that be one of your paradoxes yer always on about?"

Simon fell silent and looked down. He felt as though any hope was fading fast.

"Then," he began, "we're back to two options. Two horrible options."

"We need to find something we can hold over Keats," Alex pointed out.

"A plastic bag? Over 'is 'ed?" Gene suggested.

Alex ignored that suggestion.

"We need to find a chink in his armour. There has to be a way to get to him, just as he found a way to get to Simon. There has to be something, just one little thing. Something that will get to him. Something that he cares about, or fears, or… or something he tries to keep hidden away."

"This is Jimbo we're talking about," Gene pointed out, "apart from being a secret subscriber to _What Conscience?_ magazine we've go nothing."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"There's got to be something," he said quietly, "everybody's got a 'something.'"

Gene frowned.

"You're not seeing _my_ 'something'," he told him.

Simon sighed and shook his head.

"A _'something'_," he continued, "that one thing that gets to you. Sneaks through your defences. No matter how high up you build them, the 'something' is the thing that gets right through."

Alex looked at him curiously. How words made a lot of sense.

"And for you, it was Robin's safety," she said quietly.

Simon nodded.

"Yes."

"For Gene it would be being denied his morning latte," Alex commented cheekily.

"So how do we find his 'something?" Simon wondered.

"I don't like the idea of finding Jimbo's _anything_," said Gene.

Alex rubbed her head a little. She hated even approaching the subject but there was something she needed to say. Something she knew was incredibly relevant.

"I think he does have a 'something'" she said quietly, "I've seen him sometimes… just for a moment… show something like humanity."

Simon nodded, his head in his hands.

"I've seen it too," he said quietly.

"One moment he's sneering at you and threatening to bring down your world," Alex began, "the next…"

"…he takes off his glasses and looks at you like he's the best friend you've ever had," Simon concluded.

Gene looked at both of them as though they were talking a foreign language.

"I can safely say," he spat, "that Jim Keats has _never_ looked at me like that and I never want him to either!"

Simon lifted his mug and stared into his coffee.

"You know something," he began quietly, "there was something very strange about the whole… _file_… thing. Something he said about only finding the file this morning. He must have had it all week, ever since I arrived, but only just found it. His excuse was that Kim stole him a lot of files and he was still going through them but if he knew I was here why didn't he ask her to get my file specifically?"

"What do you mean, Simon?" asked Alex.

"I think he'd been asking Kim to steal random things," Simon explained, "just to keep seeing her."

"Nothing's ever random with Jimbo," said Gene.

"Not at first, no," said Simon, "I had a long talk with Kim about this yesterday. At the start he was asking her to steal files or do things like bug your office. But it sounds like eventually he was looking for excuses to keep seeing her, to keep stringing it out. He must have been asking her just to grab whatever files appeared on any given day." he paused. "And he had a very strange reaction when I mentioned Kim."

"How do you mean?"

"His eye went all twitchy, like it upset him," Simon explained, "I've never seen him like that before. Then when I started confronting him about finding the file today he flipped out."

"What'd he do?" asked Gene.

"It's hard to explain," Simon shook his head slowly, "it happened so fast… his face went really weird. Contorted. There was this… moment of horror and he looked like he was in pain. His whole body shook. It really freaked me out. It was when I said he'd been trying to find excuses to see Kim. When I said he only asked her to steal more papers so he could see her… sleep with her…"

"So Keats's 'something' really is his… _'something'_?" asked Gene, "he wants to keep sending his trouser-lump after Kim?"

"I don't know," Simon shook his head, "I think it was more than that."

"Does he know about the baby?" asked Alex.

"Again, I don't know," said Simon.

Alex thought quietly for a few moments.

"Do you think he's fallen in love with her?"

"I think 'love' is a bit of a strong word," said Simon.

"But you think he feels something for her?"

Simon took a large gulp of his coffee, his head really starting to hurt from his unwise headbuting attempt. It sounded ridiculous but by putting together Keats's actions with what Kim had told him it seemed to fit.

"I think he's started to. As close as Keats gets to _feeling_, anyway," he said.

Alex bit her lip and felt a peculiar pang of jealousy. It caught her out of the blue. She couldn't understand it at first. She recalled the attention that Keats gave her during his early days on the scene, back before his true intentions had some forth. Her relationship with Gene had been under strain and his attention had given her a boost. She had some hazy memories of things; a hand on the shoulder, a look, a smile - but so much of it was masked by a fog from the strange hypnotic trance that he seemed able to use at will.

She shook her head roughly, desperately trying to put those memories out of her mind.

"Even so," she began, "I don't think we can exactly use this as any kind of bargaining tool."

"Not without handing Metal Mickey over to 'im on a plate," said Gene, "that's just going to put us on 'is level."

"I think we should leave Kim as far out of this as possible," said Simon, she's been through enough."

"Agreed," said Alex.

"So, as nice as this discussion about what sets off Jimbo's joy division has been we're back to square one," said Gene.

They fell silent again for some time before Alex's mind recalled a moment from the previous day. It came back to her with force and occurred to her like a kind of epiphany.

"There was one other thing," she said quietly.

"Lets hear it, Bolly."

"Yesterday," she began slowly, trying to make sure she was recalling everything correctly, "when we were in the basement. The television came on suddenly and started showing… I'm not sure exactly.. News footage."

"Of my funeral?" Simon said miserably.

"No, later on," said Alex, "it started showing news about _his_ death."

Gene nodded.

"I remember," he said, "best thing I've seen on the telly for years."

"It sent him crazy," Alex recalled, "do you remember?"

"I thought he was going to punch a hole in the TV," said Simon.

"It was like he didn't want to hear what they were saying," Alex said quietly.

"Like he didn't want to know about his own death," Simon agreed.

Alex hesitated.

"OK, here's a question," she began, "does Keats know that he is dead?"

"I've got a better question than that," Gene said, "Does he know he was ever alive?" The others looked at him blankly. "Has he forgotten that he was just a man with a plan who met a sticky end, same as the rest of us?"

Alex started chewing nervously on her finger nails. Gene's words made sense.

"Perhaps on some level he doesn't know he was ever just another person," she whispered.

"He's been back and forth," Simon began, "he might have been confused. In two thousand and ten he said something really strange to me. Told me he'd woken up in the wrong body. He said a lot of garbage but it sounded like he… he'd been morphed somehow from being a man into being a monster when he was in this world the first time around and now he's forgotten that he was ever a man at all."

"And he doesn't want any untimely reminders of that," Gene nodded slowly.

This time as silence fell it was a heavily laden silence, silence filled with thoughts and expectations as the three of them tried desperately to workout what this meant and how they could use it to their advantage. Finally, Simon spoke up.

"Does Keats have a file?" he asked quietly.

"It would be at Fenchurch West if he does," said Gene.

"What are you thinking, Simon?" asked Alex.

Simon wasn't sure exactly. He had a half-baked plan in his head but he couldn't quite resolve it into something logical.

"If we could somehow prove to him that he's dead," he began, "make him understand that… make him see he used to just be a person and not a monster… who knows what kind of effect that could have on him?"

"I doubt his brain is going to melt and seep out through 'is ears," said Gene.

"Not quite what I was expecting anyway," said Simon, "but he seems so resistant to being human… so resistant to having emotions.."

"That ties in with Kim," Alex nodded seriously.

"He does everything he can to cover up for being human in his own head," said Simon.

"That's how he can get away with what he does without his conscience coming after him." Gene realised grimly.

Simon stared at his hands. His ring caught the light and reminded him of the whole reason for this conversation_. Robin_. His heart began to ache.

"So?" he said quietly, "do you think he has a file?"

"I don't know," said Gene, "if he does it would have arrived when he did. About six months ago, according to the computer files we got into with our _super sparkly Fenchurch West logon_."

Alex stared at her hands. Her mind had uncovered a thought but she wasn't sure she even wanted to voice it. It wasn't one that she even wished to contemplate but she know it could be the only option.

"I think there's something better than that," she whispered. She could feel Simon's gaze shift to her expectantly. Taking a deep breath she found the strength to look at him and Gene. "There'll be a tape."

"A tape?" Simon repeated as Gene looked away. Alex could feel his pain, remembering how Keats had revealed Ray, Chris and Shaz's own deaths to them. Her mind ran through images of Susannah in floods of tears after uncovering her own. She flinched, knowing how traumatic the tapes in themselves could be and wished there was some other option, but this was the only one they had, she was certain of that now.

"A tape of his death," she said quietly, "he has one… of _everyone's_ death."

"Kite saw hers," Gene said quietly, "while you were at the hospital. Broke 'er into pieces. Not exactly comfortable family viewing."

"If there's anything that will show Keats that he's dead," Alex began, "if there's anything that will prove to him that he is just a man. Anything that will get through whatever block he's set up to stop himself from believing it then the tape will do it."

"It's not the kind of footage you can fake," Gene said, gulping the last of his coffee.

"There's no coming back from watching that," Alex said quietly.

Simon stared at her. The idea of such a thing turned him cold at the core. He swallowed.

"Where would the tape be?" he whispered.

"That, I don't know," said Alex.

"Jimbo's the one with all the tapes," Gene told him, "they must be at Fenchurch West."

"That's where Susannah found hers," Alex said quietly.

Simon nodded. He sat his cup on the table and looked at Gene seriously.

"Are you sure it wouldn't be at the station?" he asked, "at _our_ station?"

"I've never found one so far," he said quietly.

Simon nodded and closed his eyes. He fell silent for some time. Deeply he breathed, in and out, in and out, trying to settle his racing heartbeat and the fear building inside of him. Something began to bubble away. Strength. _Determination. _

"Okay."

"Okay?" Alex repeated confused.

Simon nodded.

"Okay" he said quietly, "I'm going to find that tape."

Alex frowned.

"How are you going to get hold of it?" she whispered.

"The only way I can do," Simon told them, "from the inside."

"Exactly what do you mean, Shoebury?" asked Gene.

"I'll tell him I accept," Simon said quietly, "then I'll find the tape. And then." he paused, "then we have our third option."

Gene hesitated. He licked his lips as they became dry very quickly.

"That's a dangerous game to play," he said quietly.

"It's too risky," Alex added, "there's no way of knowing if you will be trapped there. If he transfers you to Fenchurch West then you may never be able to come back. You may as well have given him his Option A in the first place."

Simon shook his head.

"No," he said, "because in Option A I don't destroy him with a tape of his own death."

"You might not even find the tape," Gene warned, "he's probably destroyed it."

"Or he might not have one," said Alex.

Simon shook his head.

"Oh, he'll have one," he said firmly, "and I know he will because it'll be me on that tape, pulling the trigger at his neck. And as for destroying it," he shook his head. "destroying it would be as good as admitting that it existed, and acknowledging what was on it. He'll have one - but it'll be hidden away somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind."

The three DCIs fell silent for some time, exchanging glances and wishing that an extra option would suddenly appear. In the absence of another plan, Simon's Plan C was the best option they had.

Gene stared at him.

"You got to make it convincing," he said quietly.

Simon spread his arms.

"Look at me," he said, "bruise on my head, cut under my eye, clothes ripped - I'm a walking _'After' _illustration for someone who's just had a fight with Gene Hunt!"

Gene took that as a compliment.

"Fair enough," he said.

"I'll tell Keats you weren't happy about me leaving," Simon said quietly, "and I'll ask to get started right away."

Alex shook her head slowly.

"What if he doesn't buy it?" she asked.

Simon wished he had a better answer than _'I don't know'_ but since he didn't have one that was all he could offer.

"You really up for this, Simon?" Gene asked seriously.

With a very deep breath, Simon nodded.

"Absolutely," said Simon.

"Even if it means snivelling up to Keats?" Gene asked, "that ball of evil, crusty slime and his flashing mac?"

"If I have to," Simon said stoically.

"It could be worse than you can imagine," said Gene.

"I doubt it."

"There could be anything in there. There could be hell. There could be torture."

"I can take it."

"There could be agonised screams from the lifts and sky-high temperatures."

"Fine."

"It could be the lowest centre of human depravity in existence."

"I'm prepared."

"And," Gene concluded, "there might be more signed photographs of Andrew Ridgeley hiding in the archives."

Simon froze. He gained a peculiar expression and looked a little pained suddenly.

"What's the matter?" asked Alex.

Simon clutched his stomach at the sensation of something starting to move within.

"I think the idea of working with Keats has just cured my constipation." he cried, racing from the room.

~xXx~

Hs long coat shielding him from the cold winter air, Keats felt triumphant as he made his way back to Fenchurch West. His trump card had brought a renewed sense of purpose to his quest. He knew that Simon would do anything to protect Robin. Making one little transfer would be a small price to pay, he was sure.

Passing strangers on the street would give him a sense of strange satisfaction. All those people just walking by, oblivious to wha was going on inside his head as he passed them. None of them knowing - not for a second - that he'd just secured himself certain eventual supremacy over Gene in a battle he'd been waging for so long.

All the passers by, so very many strangers with no idea, not the slightest hint of the truth.

A shock of short, bleach blonde hair brought Keats's smug footsteps to a halt. Something made his heart stop for just a moment and his lips responded before his mind could stop them.

"_Kim?" he whispered._

The woman beside him turned around. She was about ten years older than Kim and half as attractive. Keats gave a little gasp, partly from realising his mistake and partly from the shock of how he'd felt when he thought he knew the person walking close by.

_Sorry,__" _he mumbled, _"sorry…"_

He stumbled along the road a little, thinking about getting his glasses changed at the nearest opportunity and fighting away the pangs of guilt eating him up inside. All the time he was focused on aiming his hatred and bile at Simon and his exquisite plan for revenge he'd been able to push those thoughts aside. Now that the fun part was over he was angered to find them sneaking back in.

His pace increased as he walked, trying to outrun the memories, until he turned a corner and walked straight into a young woman pushing a small baby in a pushchair. The image brought a sharp intake of breath and a moment of horror, accompanied by a hard thumping of his heart and a racing of his pulse.

"Watch where you're going!" the woman cried, knocked off balance.

The sight of the baby brought a desperate guilt to Keats, a raging nausea that rose from the pit of his stomach, settling his chest and building inside his lungs until it formed a scream of epic proportions.

Flashes of Kim came back in his head, her face creased in pain, the motion of his foot striking her and the sight of her curled up in her hospital bed, at the mercy of the horrific loss she'd experienced at his doing.

Almost as though a long-buried ability to feel emotions had started working overtime he felt a pain deep inside of him, almost empathically, echoing the hard kick his foot had delivered. It brought him to the ground and rendered him helpless for several moments.

What the hell was this? What was going on? Where had these emotions and sensations come from? He hated them. He hated every last one.

When eventually he felt that he could move, he got to his feet and stumbled along the pavement, as fast as his legs could move. He was desperate to reach his station. The feelings would subside then. When he was back in the heart of his kingdom then his _own_ heart could close again.

Until then, he would just have to keep working hard to push thoughts of Kim and his terrible actions from his mind, to block them out. They had no part in his plan. Neither did the desire to run to the woman he'd brought such tragedy to and cry for forgiveness at her feet from the loss, guilt and anguish he felt in every inch of his being. These were things that Jim Keats did not do, and so he had no option but to bury them deeply away from his conscious thoughts and to run, as fast as he could.

Run away from the human side that was growing more vocal with every heartbeat and back to his heartless life, deep inside of Fenchurch West.


	60. Chapter 59: Go West

**Chapter Fifty Nine**

Simon couldn't remember ever feeling as scared as he did walking from the visitor's car park to the entrance of Fenchurch West police station. His head was throbbing from his fight with Gene, his hands were trembling with fear and his stomach was still churning from the thought of discovering a fresh batch of Andrew Ridgeley photographs in the archives somewhere. As he stared at the building ahead of him he became acutely aware of just how much could go wrong. At the very least he could be trapped in Keats's dark version of CID forever. Worst case scenario? Both he and Robin could spend eternity at the mercy of Keats's dark desires, with Wham songs piped into their heads non-stop.

He locked his car slipped the keys into his pocket and glanced at his reflection in the wing mirror. He was surprised how deep the cut below his eye was. He seemed to have picked that up around the time he and Gene were scrambling to get each other in a headlock. He didn't even notice it at the time but it was stinging like crazy now. On his forehead there was a red area that was slowly turning purple. He caught sight of his shirt, the collar slightly ripped. He looked like a sorry sight.

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking so badly he didn't know how he had ever driven in the first place. He could hardly even hold the car keys straight now. The tremble had been born of the fear that at any moment he would come face to face with Keats once again. The man he seemed never to be able to escape. He held the ace this time, and Simon knew there was only one way to better that card.

He placed one hand on his upset stomach. It ached and flip-flopped with fear at the thought of facing Keats. That sure was one way of getting rid of constipation, he thought. Alex and Gene had practically given up on him, he'd spent so long in the bathroom. By the time he emerged they were on their third cup of coffee and had watched a whole series of Red Dwarf.

He recalled Gene's words. _You got to make it convincing._ He knew he was right. One sniff of the situation being fake and Keats would have him toasting his backside on the coals of hell faster than anything. He felt so isolated and alone. Although he was wearing a hastily applied wire so that Alex and Gene could keep an ear on what was happening they had no way to feed back to him, or even to let him know if the wire was working. Standing half-naked in Gene's office while the two of them argued about what kind of tape to use and whether or not it was going to rip the hair from his chest afterwards was one of the lowest points of his time in 1995 so far and that included discovering he had died.

He was as much alone as he'd ever felt in his life.

He took a slow and torturous walk to the doors, then with a deep and terrified breath he stepped inside the building. Approaching the desk he felt several pairs of eyes settling upon him. A young uniformed officer greeted him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Simon swallowed. He tried to speak but his nerves choked him.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I'm here to see DCI Keats. He… he might be expecting me."

The young man looked a little nervous.

"Are you sure you're not here to report some kind of… assault?" he asked.

Simon gave an internal sigh.

"Just _get_ him, would you?" he asked dispiritedly. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as he possibly could. He stood back and watched the man making a phone call, then became aware of a couple of drunken gentlemen staring at him. _"Yes, I've been in a fight," _he snapped at them.

A moment later the young PC turned back to Simon.

"He'll be with you as soon as possible," he said.

"Thank you," Simon sighed, wishing he was anywhere else, anywhere but there. He wished there was an escape route, not just from the building but from the situation.

He was already in too deeply to back out now though.

He leaned back against the wall, wondering what the loud thumping noise was coming from. Then he realised it was his heart. He took several deep, slow breaths and tried desperately to calm his nerves. He wanted Keats to see him angry and tattered, not nervous and guilty.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment. He could hear footsteps approaching now. He was on a countdown; a countdown to hell_. Five, four, three, two, one…_

"Well, well."

He opened his eyes again. There he was, standing right in front of him. DCI Jim Keats; coat, glasses, smirk. All present and correct.

"Hi," Simon said quietly, suddenly unsure how to open the dialogue.

He needn't have worried. Keats had enough words for the both of them.

"I wasn't sure I'd vbe seeing you so soon," he said, "you're looking a bit less like your usual uptight smart self. What happened to you? Pick a fight with a GELF at a Red Dwarf convention?

Simon took a deep breath. _Make it convincing._

"I had a fight with Gene," he said, trying to keep the nervous waiver out of his voice.

Keats raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that looked like his handiwork," he commented, "what was the problem? Not enough sugars in his tea?"

"I told him about your offer," Simon almost choked, "I told him I was thinking about it. He didn't like that." he shuffled uncomfortably. "Made my decision much easier."

Keats stared at Simon, taking in his dishevelled appearance and slowly nodded.

"So you've finally been on the end of Hunt's overactive fists?" he asked.

Simon nodded.

"I should have listened," he said quietly.

Keats allowed himself just the tiniest laugh.

"Well, I hate to say I told you so," he smirked.

"No you don't," Simon frowned.

Keats nodded. That was true enough.

"Well" he began "this is a turn up for the books. I'd expected to have to do a little more persuasion than this."

"Looks like Gene did that for you," Simon looked down.

Keats wished he could bottle up the moment and savour it for all eternity. He gave Simon a broad smile, took off his glasses and held out his hand.

"Welcome to the team," he said.

Simon hesitated and flinched internally. He didn't want to get within ten miles of Keats in an ideal world, much less shake his hand, but he knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. Without letting himself hold back for too long he reached out and shook on a deal that his heart refused to make. The action made his stomach lurch all over again, the thought of shaking hands with a man who had made threats so vile - it made him want to spit in his eye and show him just how deeply his hate for him ran. How he held back, Simon had no idea.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Keats looked at the wound under Simon's eye.

"That looks sore," he commented, licking his finger and reaching out to wipe the blood away like a mother trying to remove a chocolate stain from the cheek of their excitable child. Simon drew back a little.

"Get our hands off me," he said quickly, "I'm hear to work and nothing else. I don't need patching up. You're not Susannah."

Keats withdrew his hand and spun around.

"Alright, " he said, "I'll show you to your desk. But all work and no play makes Simon a -"

"- sensible man," Simon interrupted before Keats could finish that sentence.

Keats led Simon through the corridor and to the staircase.

"Just up here," he said, "or would you rather take the lift?"

Simon felt a wave of dread suddenly.

"Uh, no thanks," he said, "the stairs will be fine."

As they progressed up the staircase Keats acknowledged how relieved he was to find the distraction of Simon's arrival. Since getting back to CID he'd been torn between listening to that deep, dark, nagging voice that wouldn't stop whispering to him or blocking it forcefully out of his head, focusing all his energies on keeping himself neutral and free of emotion.

He wasn't even certain quite how he'd made it back if he was honest. He remembered flashes of a woman and something about a baby. He remembered some kind of searing pain that came from a flash of conscience he never even knew he had. The next thing he remembered was being back in the station, walking down the corridor to CID, barking things at people who didn't deserve it.

Now with Simon's arrival, the glorious distraction served to take him mind away from Kim and from the alien, human emotions that had tried to take hold. The call telling him that Simon had arrived did as much as anything to block them out. Initially he had been surprised and his arrival down at the front desk had been cautious, expecting either some soft of trick of a Simon appearing to give as good as he got in some way. Within moments, Simon's appearance took away any nagging doubts that Keats had left, and if there were any others lingering he surely did not want to listen to them.

"Here we are," he said proudly, leading Simon through a set of doors, "the hub. The hive of activity."

Simon had been through CID before, of course. The previous day, searching for Susannah, his search had led him to Keats's office but back then he'd been in a hurry and barely took anything in. Taking a fresh look at his own pace brought a shudder to his spine as he realised how much like Fenchurch East his CID had become. What was that about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery? He didn't see Gene as being particularly flattered to find out that Keats had even copied the décor.

"It's nice," he said a little pathetically, looking around. He thrust his hands in his pockets so that Keats couldn't see his hands continue to tremble.

"You'll get the full introductions later," said Keats, beginning to feel in his element, "still building the team, but we're getting there."

Simon noticed a nervous looking redhead giving Keats a dirty look, then throwing a curious glance his way. He tried to give a friendly smile but his expression wasn't co-operating.

"Where am I working?" he asked quietly.

"Ahh, yes, well," keats began, "I wasn't expecting to see you quite so soon, though with DCI Hunt's temper in the equation I don't know why I was so surprised by your arrival. So haven't been able to sort you out anything permanent yet but while I get your office ready you can take this desk," he showed Simon to the desk where, back in Fenchurch East, its counterpart was filled by Kim. It made him shudder. Had he been keeping that desk free for Kim herself?

"Thanks," he said a little half-heartedly. He noticed a young man in a suit that seemed a little too tight walking through the doors with a big box of papers and a couple of tapes sitting on the top. Keats's response surprised him as a slightly crazed look came across his face and a strange, anxious laugh escaped from his throat.

"Dillion, what are you doing?" he asked quickly.

The man could hardly see over the top of the files and did a little spin as he tried to keep his balance.

"Got the rest of the files from the archives," he said, papers threatening to smother his face.

"Oh, no, _no…" _Keats walked towards him, placed one hand on his back and began to push him out of the door, "I don't need those any more. You can take that back."

"B-but you said…" the man blustered, straining a little under the weight of the box.

Keats turned to Simon with a nervous laugh. He turned on a smile and said anxiously,

"That's DC Dillion. He's keen. Too keen. You sneeze and he brings you a _choice_ of tissues, know what I mean?"

Simon didn't know what he meant but smiled politely.

"Enthusiasm isn't always a good thing," he said quietly.

Keats watched Dillion spinning and stumbling outside with the box and realised he should probably escort the papers back to where they'd come from.

"Uh, sorry to greet and leave but I need to make sure everything gets back to where it's supposed to be," he began, "DI Stone will look after you." he turned to the nervous redhead "_Victoria!"_

Simon watched the woman close her eyes for a moment and sigh, then get to her feet and begin walking across the office.

"Yes, Guv?"

"This is DCI Simon Shoebury," Keats began, "he's joining us from Fenchurch East. He's been heading up their new Hi-Tech Crimes division and he'll be doing the same here."

Victoria gave a thin smile and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you, sir," she said quietly.

"I've got to speak to DC Dllion and organise Shoebury's office," Keats told her, "so I'll leave him in your able, capable, caring sharing hands. OK?"

Victoria sighed again.

"Yes, Guv," she said quietly.

Keats gave Simon an unexpected and most definitely unwanted thump across the back, followed by a winning smile.

"Back in five!" he said and disappeared through the doors.

Victoria watched him go.

"May as well get some special effects," she said, "disappear in a puff of smoke. That should really do it."

Simon realised that he almost felt more nervous now Keats had gone than he did when he was standing right beside him. He looked at Victoria and gave a little smile.

"Something tells me you don't get on with your DCI very well," he said.

"I get on better with my dentist when he's looming over me with a drill," Victoria said. She nodded at Simon. "So what did you do to get transferred here then?"

Simon frowned.

"What did I _do?" _

"You must have done something," said Victoria, "it's not exactly a promotion for your general devotion to duty."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he said, "what did _you_ do?"

Victoria wished she knew. Maybe then she could apologise for it and get the hell out.

"Must have doe something awful in a previous life," she said quietly.

Simon almost flinched at her words. How hard it was to live in this world knowing the truth.

"I'm sure that's not true" he said, trying not let his voice waiver. He started to wonder if he'd made the right decision in going through with this plan.

Victoria looked a little awkward, perhaps some shyness coming forth. Unsure how to talk to the newcomer without terrifying the life out of him she picked up a few papers and said,

"Listen, I need to take these files for duplication. Health and safety stuff. I'll be back in five minutes and then I'll give you the tour."

"Thanks," Simon said quietly. He walked cautiously around his desk as Victoria left, keeping a careful watch on the doors in case of an unexpected Keats return. On the desk was a pen pot with a couple of writing implements inside and several others laid out neatly next to it. His fingers brushed the surface of the furniture, almost as though it might sting or burn him to touch. His eyes began to scan the office. Although the majority of the desks seemed to be messy and in use there were only two other people actually in the office at that time. Not quite the hive of activity Keats had claimed, he thought to himself. He began to take a short walk around the office, taking in every detail that Keats seemed to have replicated from Fenchurch East.

He walked to a desk that, in its counterpart, had once belonged to Malcolm. This desk certainly didn't belong to Malcolm since the owner appeared to be a lipstick-wearer. One glass of water with a pink-stained rim stood on the desk, and beside it a stack of files leaned suspiciously. Simon instinctively reached out to straighten them up a little but succeeded in knocking them over in a great big papery landslide.

"_Shit!"_ he cursed, making a grab for them and knocking the glass of water flying. It landed on its side and rolled off the desk where it smashed on the floor, leaving water and glass as far as the eye could see. From across the office a couple of members of CID gave him a slow round of applause. Flushing a bright shade of flamingo, Simon stooped down and grabbed a few sheets of paper from the desk. He crouched on the floor and began to pick up the larger shards of glass and pile them onto the paper to throw in the bin.

He carefully carried them on the paper so as not to drop them and leaned over the bin to tip them in but as he sent them showering over the pieces of scrunched up paper and banana peels something else caught his eye. Cautiously he reached in, taking care not to cut himself on the glass and pulled out a couple of large chunks of black plastic. On closer examination he realised they were part of a video tape and to one of the chunks a white label remained attached. He turned it around and read the sticker. When he saw his own name upon it the shock caused the pieces of tape to fly out of his hands, back into the bin.

He stood up and backed away, his heart leaping into his mouth. His stomach flip-flopped and he wished that he'd had the forethought to ask Keats or Victoria where the toilets were before they left. Suddenly he began to feel very, very nervous indeed.

The gravity of the situation came home to him with the discovery of those shards of black plastic. It made him tremble through every inch of his body. The reality of what he'd done was dawning on him and, like it or not, his soul was in Keats's hands now. He just hoped that he had the courage and the fortune to see it through to the conclusion.

~xXx~

"It's no use, I can't hear a thing," Gene mumbled, "aside from his heart sounding like a death metal song and his upset stomach bubbling like a bowl full 'o goldfish," he took off the headset and sighed, "I knew I shouldn't have mentioned that autograph."

"We knew the wire was a long shot," sighed Alex, "we should never have let him do this."

"Jimbo was hardly going to let either of _us_ get close enough to take his secret home movie, was he?" said Gene.

"I'm just worried about him," Alex shook her head slowly, "he's been through so much in the last few days."

"The way you try to mother 'im we might as well adopt 'im after we tie the knot," Gene commented.

Alex stared out of the window.

"He saved me from Keats," she said quietly, "I owe him."

Gene gave a deep sigh.

"He'll find a way to contact us as soon as he can," he assured her, "when he has something to tell us, he'll be in touch."

Alex took the headset and tried to put it on without disturbing her hair. She adjusted it, then glanced at Gene and said,

"_When?"_

"When what?"

"You said _when_ we tie he knot," she pointed out, "not if." She waited for a smart comeback but none came. "So it's a definite then?"

Gene hesitated. He pulled his flask from his pocket.

"Let's see how much longer you're planning on sticking around first, eh?" he said.

Alex felt a warm glow spread across her cheeks which she tried to hide by putting her hand on the side of her headset as though it helped her to listen more intently. She could hear a few muffled noises, mostly incorporating the various bodily functions Gene had already noted.

"Why didn't we get a pro to do this?" she cursed herself.

"You know why," said Gene, "this stays between the three of us."

Alex listened for a few moments longer and a word out of the blue made her jump.

"Hang on," she said, "I heard something."

"What?"

"Simon swearing."

Gene sighed.

"That narrows it down," he commented.

"There was a crash, and then some swearing," Alex elaborated.

"Simon swearing doesn't really narrow down the field," Gene commented, "Keats could be doing anything from proposing marriage to cutting off 'is 'ed."

"I can't hear Keats," Alex remarked. She listed for a while longer as there were a few clanking sounds that could have been glass touching glass and then a little more rustling. "I think I've lost it again."

"Lost it," Gene repeated, "I think _we've_ lost it. Keats has driven us all insane."

Alex started to feel a little strange as she sat there beside him. It started as a little tingling in her hands and spread through her arms up to her head. It felt like the tingling of static, spreading through her. She glanced at Gene to see if he'd noticed something was wrong but he didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Gene," she began quietly, "I feel -"

A loud buzzing through the headset cut her off in her prime. She tried to cut the volume but succeeded only in turning it up instead. As the loud buzzing ripped through her ears she tore the headset from her head but a split second before she did so she caught one word through them -

"_Alex…"_

Realising a second too late that someone was speaking to her she tried to readjust them and get them back over her ears as quickly as possible.

"Shit, someone said something," she cursed.

"Wasn't Keats reciting poetry, was it?" Gene asked but Alex ignored him.

She fiddled with the controls and turned down the volume first of all, then tried to get the voice back between the crackling and the fizzing. At first the voice was too vague to make out, then as suddenly as anything the interference cleared and a voice came though so clearly that they could have been sitting right beside her, talking into her ear.

"…_since I got back it's gone from bad to worse."_

Every muscle in Alex's body froze. That wasn't Simon. It wasn't Keats either.

"Gene," she breathed, pulling one side of the headset out in the hope he might hear it too.

"…_Been suspended, charged, they're going to take my home away…"_

Alex looked at Gene expectantly as he tried to listen in.

"Well?"

"…_All I do is come here and talk to you because it's the closest thing I can get to talking to him…"_

Gene looked at her blankly.

"Static?"

"What? _No! _Can't you hear it?

"The _ffzzzztttt?" _asked Gene, "Yes, I can."

"No!" Alex cried and fell silent as she tried to listen again.

"…_Evan has been great, but my chances are…"_

Now there truly _was_ static.

"Damn," Alex sighed, pulling the headset back off and throwing it angrily to the ground.

"What?" asked Gene, "What did you hear? Is Shoebury OK?"

Alex felt her heart racing.

"It wasn't Simon," she whispered, "it wasn't from the wire." she swallowed. "It was Robin."

Gene looked at her like she had just announced that Dave Lee Travis had been made king of great Britain.

"Drakey, what are you -?" he began but trailed off as he saw the look on her face and a glistening in her eyes.

"Robin's in my room," she whispered breathlessly, "in the hospital." her eyes grew wider. "he's… he's losing everything, Gene. I'm the last link he has to Simon." she paused. "and I think we're running out of time."

Gene hesitated. He wasn't sure what to make of her revelation but knew from the look on her face that things were getting serious. He reached forward and placed his hand over hers. It was as close as the Gene Genie got to voluntarily holding hands.

"Then we'll have to trust that Simon's on his way to getting that tape and giving Keats a private viewing," he said quietly.

Alex wished she had the same confidence in the plan as Gene had. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.


	61. Chapter 60: Extended Footage

**Chapter Sixty**

Simon couldn't remove the image of the broken tape from his head. There were so many layers to this - what was the tape doing out in the first place? Why was it broken? And then there was the whole fact of even having a tape in the first place. It made his death, plus his possible fate, more real than ever.

He retreated to his new desk and sat down, trying to calm his racing pulse. He needed to focus. He couldn't screw this up, there was too much riding on it. Robin, Alex, Gene, Fenchurch East - and his own life too. It was almost too much to try to work out he'd come to this. Five days ago, just five sweet blessed days ago he was waking up in bed beside Robin, on a day like any other, with a glorious intention inside of his heart. One bullet from one man, fired at an innocent dog and everything went crazy.

He heard footsteps coming closer and jumped to his feet just as Victoria came back into the room. He gave a nervous smile, his palms beginning to grow moist again and his mouth heading in the opposite direction.

"Uh… DI Stone?" he began.

She turned around.

"Yes?" she began, "_Oh! _That's right, I was going to give you the tour, wasn't I?"

"Uh, that's OK," Simon began, "there are _two _places I'd like directions for though."

"is one of them the exit?" Victoria joked.

Despite the situation, Simon gave a smile.

"No," he said, "the first one is the bathroom."

"Toilets are just down the corridor and up the stairs," Victoria told him.

Simon's nerves were glad to hear they were so close.

"And the other," he tried to speak but his mouth was becoming more arid and his tongue was sticking to the words, "I'd really like to get started here… no point sitting around like a spare wheel… do you know where I could find some of the old files? Anything that might be relevant to my department?"

Your department's only just being formed," Victoria told him, "there are no old papers."

"Old CID cases," Simon tried, "any crimes that might fall under my remit now. Just so that I can familiarise myself with the work you've done in this area before. Look for any names that might crop up again. That sort of thing."

Victoria wasn't sure.

"I think most of the files from the last twelve months are in the cabinets in the Guv's office," she began.

"How about the older ones?" Simon leapt in, then wished he'd not been quite so keen as her expression grew wary and anxious, "uh.. I don't want to disturb DCI Keats's office when he's not around."

"Well… all the older ones go into archive boxes and they're stored down in the first basement."

Simon frowned.

"The _first_ basement?" he asked.

"There's a kind of double basement," Victoria explained, "there's a large room just under ground level that's used for archiving. Ten there's a smaller room… I think it was an office at some point. It's out of bounds."

Simon knew that very room and knew the reason why it was out of bounds, but he couldn't help but wonder what Keats had told them about it

"Oh?" he began, "why? It's not dangerous is it?"

"They found some fumes or something," Victoria explained, "someone was overcome down there."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment. He could guess what kind of 'fumes' were down there.

"So how would I get to the… _first basement?_" he asked.

"Go back to the first floor, walk to the end of the corridor and it's the door marched 'archiving'." She scrambled in her pocked for something and handed Simon some jingly keys on a string. "You'll need these," she said, "the big round key opens the basement door. The little silver ones are numbered to match the lockers. And the gold key is for the cupboard where DCI Keats keeps his special files."

Simon went on alert.

"His special files?" he asked, a little nervously.

"I think they were part of some kind of new filing system trial," Victoria explained, "there was this young girl who brought the prototype papers over every few days for his approval."

"What did she look like?" Simon asked quietly.

Victoria shrugged.

"Blonde, short hair, few piercings…" she frowned, "not really the kind of person you expect to see around CID to be honest with you."

Simon swallowed. He wished Keats had stayed well away from Kim. In a weird way through their conversations the day before he'd started to feel like a bit of a brotherly figure toward her. He wanted to protect her from all the evil in the world, and the vast majority of that evil seemed to stem from Jim Keats.

"Thanks for helping me out," he said quietly, slipping the keys into his pocket.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Victoria said pleasantly, "let me know if you need any help."

"Thanks," said Simon, "but I'm sure I'll be fine." he paused, "On my own."

On his own.

He truly was on his own. He had no back-up, no one to turn to. All he had were a bunch of keys, his wit and his instincts.

"_So basically, I'm buggered," _he thought to himself ads he turned and left the office.

~xXx~

"I don't understand," Gene shook his head, Bolly, you've been here for almost fifteen years and out there it's only been two. Batman went home two days ago and suddenly his own life has moved on by weeks?"

"I don't understand it either, Gene!" Alex protested, "time doesn't do what we expect it to here. It doesn't perform party tricks! It doesn't beg, sit, roll over and stay!"

"At least you didn't say 'play dead'," Gene commented.

With a sigh, Alex put the headset back on and listened for a moment, hoping to catch a few words from Robin again, but the sound seemed to have returned to Simon's wire. She felt a little disappointed in a way. Although hearing Robin's voice had shocked her, all the time she was still hearing him it meant that it wasn't too late. She tried to make some semblance of sense of the sounds that came over the headset, but as soon as she realised what she was listening to she took it off and threw it at Gene in disgust.

"Ugh!" she cried.

"Oh no, you've not picked up Keats's _Wham_ album by mistake, have yer?"

"No, Gene, Simon's in the toilet!"

Gene's face filled with horror as he threw the headset back at Alex.

"I'm not bloody listening to it!"

"One of us has got to!" Alex threw it back again.

"Why has one of us got to listen to bloody Shoebury on the bog?

"In case Keats is in there!"

"Now I want to listen to it even _less!"_

They played hot potato with the headset for a few minutes until finally Alex conceded and nervously reintroduced her ears to the headphones. She listened cautiously for a moment before delivering to Gene the news,

"I think it's alright now. He's flushing."

"Sweet blessed relief," Gene commented sarcastically.

"Isn't that what Simon said earlier?" Alex remarked, listening to the headset once again.

Gene looked at Alex a little nervously. There was something a little different about her.

"You feeling OK, Bolly?" he asked.

Alex shot him a glance.

"Why?"

Gene hesitated.

"You look a bit pale, that's all," he said.

Alex took a deep breath.

"I'm fine, Gene, and I thought we weren't going to get paranoid."

Gene looked away.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he said quickly.

They fell back into silence as Alex listened to Simon washing his hands and taking a long walk through the corridors of Fenchurch West. She hoped that Gene's paranoia was unfounded, she really did. Despite her ambivalence toward the subject of going and staying she knew she was nowhere near ready for a goodbye. She felt whole and sturdy, not like the fading in and out from the day before, but that tingle in her hands was still bubbling away and haunting her.

~xXx~

The door was the scariest thing Simon had ever seen. A simple, white door with a plain sign bearing one word, yet it scared him half to death.

"_Archiving". _That's all it said.

It might as well have said,_ "Wooo! Come and look down here at all of Keats's scary stuff!_

That's what the one word meant to Simon at the very least.

He looked through the keyring to find the right key and tried it in the door, then felt like an idiot as he realised the key was for the door at the _bottom_ of the stairs and the door he stood before was actually unlocked.

"I really am buggered," he muttered as he opened the door and fumbled for a light switch. He was a little nervous about running into Keats down there but the stairs were dark and the area seemed deserted. Besides, he'd spent so long trying to get over his nerves in the bathroom that Keats would probably have been long gone by now.

"_Aha,_" he muttered, finally locating the switch and lighting up the staircase.

The steps were slightly less treacherous than the ones leading down to the other part of the basement. He felt a little less like he was taking his life in his hands and a little more like he was walking towards a proper room than some random, abandoned place.

He reached the door at the bottom of the steps and already had the key at the ready. The fact that it was locked was a good sign that no wandering Keatses were lurking, he decided. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he unlocked the door and pushed his way through.

Once inside he located the light switches and flicked them on. One at a time big lights above him shuddered on, each making an almighty popping noise. The harshness of the light in the enclosed space made Simon blink and rub his eyes for a moment until they began to adjust. When he'd regained his ability to see properly his eyes began to scan the room. Around him were hundreds of boxes of files, stretching from floor to ceiling. A couple of television sets and a computer sat at one end of the room surrounded by grey, metal lockers. There were some shelves containing yet more boxes, and to one side a large, pale-grey lock-up cupboard. He felt drawn to that cupboard first. Could this be where Keats kept the 'special files' as Victoria had put it?

Cautiously he stepped towards it and found the right key. Sliding it into the lock and turning it quickly, the frontage opened and slid across. Inside were relatively few files. A quick glance through them showed that many of them were marked Fenchurch East.

"Kim's pilferings," he commented.

He picked up a few files and flicked through them but couldn't find anything of great interest. There were several random case files and a few files about members of the station. There were a couple of tapes in a box as well but he didn't recognise the names on them.

He closed the cupboard as quietly as possible and relocked it, then walked slowly to the grey lockers. He took a deep breath and scanned the door of one for the number, then found the right key. He carefully unlocked it and opened the door. He gave a little gasp as he uncovered the contents of the locker. Row after row of video tapes greeted him, each one bearing a sticker with someone's name on. There were so many names, hundreds of them, one after another. Most of them were names he didn't know - _Carol, Arthur, Victor, Mike, Jessica…_ the list went on.

A cold shudder spread through him as he came upon a tape labelled _Malcolm._ He recalled reading in the paper about Malcolm's terrible death. That was a tape he never wanted to see. He also had one hairy moment when he found a tape labelled _"Andrew Ridgeley" _but it turned out just to be a video of Wham's greatest hits.

Despite scanning all of the names, Keats's own tape was conspicuous by its absence. He sighed and locked the locker back up. It had to be there somewhere, it just had to be. If it was hidden anywhere else then Keats would have had to acknowledge enough about the contents of the tape to know that there was something on it he really didn't want to see. It was far more likely to have been 'lost' behind a box than to have been singled out and taken elsewhere.

He opened another locker and found more tapes, but this time there was something different about them. Aside from a few on the top shelf most of them were Betamax tapes.

"Oh come off it, Keats!" he cried, "get with the programme!" He was alarmed to find one entitled _'Simon, part 1.' _He made a horrid but correct assumption that that must contain the footage of his first trip into Fenchurch East and Gene's world. He hoped Keats had never watched that one or he would probably die laughing.

His tape was in a pile marked _For conversion to VHS_ which made Simon begin to wonder if Keats was a bit of a techie himself in a weird way. He continued to scan the titles and felt like he was intruding g on the most private moment of all those lives. Suddenly a title made his heart stop.

_ROBIN._

For a moment he panicked. Was it already too late? Was Robin already dead? He quickly realised this must be the tape from Robin's arrival in 1995 though. If Simon had a tape of his first arrival into the world then those who make it back must all have one, too.

He took the tape and turned it over and over in his hands. As he did so, his whole body lost strength and he slumped to the floor. The sadness that consumed him at that moment was overwhelming. The mixture of missing Robin so much, terror at the threats Keas had hissed into his ear and the extreme trauma of his own death made him desperate to scream or cry just to try to release it but he couldn't. He had to press on. He had to keep going.

He began to pull himself up by the corner of the TV cabinet but the sight of a box tucked just out of view stopped him. Cautiously reaching behind the cabinet he slipped out a small cardboard box. Inside were a couple of tapes, some papers and something that caught the light and sparkled. Feeling curious he reached in and clasped his fingers around a metal chain which he pulled out the box rto reveal a small silver 'K' on the end.

"K for Keats?" Simon frowned but soon realised that Keats wasn't exactly the jewellery type and deveoped a far more convincing theory who the _K_ belonged to. "He stole Kim's necklace?" it seemed ridiculous, but no more so than anything else he'd found so far.

Reaching into the box again he found two tapes. He took a deep breath. Somehow he had a funny feeling this was it. He pulled them out and stared at them. One of them caught his attention for the fact that it had a label over a label over a label. A blank sticker had been stuck over two other stickers. He tried to peel off as much of the to label as he could without damaging the one underneath. The label he revealed said clearly, _Jim. _Simon felt his heart do a 360 degree spin in his chest at the magnitude of his find. He clutched it against him for a moment almost as though he was frightened of dropping it and breaking it.

When he calmed down a little he took another look at the label. There was definitely a third sticker below it. Curiosity got the better of him and he started to peel the top one away a little. This one seemed harder to remove, fairly firmly stuck to the one below, but little by little he lifted the edge and started to remove it. The more he took away, the more of the label below he was able to see. It quite clearly said; _James._

Something about it disturbed Simon. He began to wonder exactly what was on that tape. He slipped it out of the box and saw the length of the video seemed to be much longer than some of the others he'd seen. What was this, _the director's cut?_

He'd been so busy peeling off labels that he'd almost forgotten to look at the second tape. Slipping Keats's tape back in its box and tucking it safely into a pocket inside his jacket he lifted the other tape and gave his heart a second spin around the block when he saw the name on it. _Kim._

"What the _hell…?" _he whispered. He panicked for a moment, wondering why she had a tape when he was so sure she made it but remembered his second tape and Robin's tape. Although Kim made it home, Simon was certain of that, she still had a tape of her entry to Gene's world.

"So the bigger question," Simon began to himself, "is why has Keats hidden her tape away?"

He stared at it. His curiosity was getting the better of him. Although he knew it wasn't what he was there for and knew he might regret it he couldn't stop himself. Before he knew it, he'd pressed the stand-by button on the nearest TV and took the tape from its sleeve. He slipped it in the VCR below the television and watched it disappear into the slot. He held his breath as he pressed play, his hand shaking terribly, and sat back a little.

Some interference and sparkles took over the screen for a few moments until the picture cleared and an image of a woman chasing two men came onto the screen. It was dark; the road was wet and cold as her feet pounded along the ground.

"_Suspects heading into park, main road entrance," _she cried into her radio.

The woman's face was familiar but her appearance very different. With longer, dark hair in place of her short, blonde crop, a lack of piercings and a slimmer, stealthier build, it was a bit like seeing Kim in disguise.

"_DS Stringer, this is DI Matthews," _a voice came over the radio,_ "requesting you cease pursuit of suspects and wait for uniform back up. Member of the public reports seeing one man in possession of a knife. Repeat, You are to cease pursuit immediately."_

Kim had already run into the park by now and, after looking left and right, could see no sign of the suspects anyway. She panted heavily and cursed under her breath.

"_Lost visual trace of suspects," _she said into the radio, "they've disappeared somewhere inside the park."

Further instructions started to come over the radio but Kim was never to hear them as one pair of arms grabbed her from behind and held her tightly around her neck. Simon gasped in genuine horror. It was the kind of thing you would see on any police drama but seeing it happen to someone for real sent his heart into his throat, wishing he could scream for her.

A second man, a faceless man with features hidden by the shadows, stepped out from behind the shed where the park's curator kept his various tools. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object which transformed quickly into a sharp blade that caught the streetlight in its shiny metal.

Kim's voice gave a strained, terrified shriek which brought tears to Simon's eyes. He watched, trembling, in front of the screen as his new friend and 'little sister' cried and begged for mercy before the blade plunged into her stomach and her cries grew louder, then softer until they faded away to nothing and her motionless, dying body was left on the ground while her soul began its journey to another place and another time.

Simon wiped rough, angry tears away. It filled him with bile to see her at the mercy of a cold blade and heartless men to whom the loss of a life meant so little.

His moment of bitterness was called to a very sudden halt as he became aware of footsteps on the creaky stairs outside and with a few urgent swearwords he switched off the TV and tried to eject the cassette.

The tape whirred a little, stopped, whirred some more and thought about _maybe_ ejecting at some point on the next… oh, several years. Simon was so used to DVDs he'd forgotten how annoying tapes could be. He glanced behind him to the door. A shadow was coming closer. There was no time to wait for the tape now, and the only place he could think of hiding was behind a big pile of boxes. As fast as he could, he scrambled into the space behind them, horrified by how dusty they were.

With a combination of the fear, his dodgy stomach and a sudden dust allergy he wasn't sure which bodily function was going to give him away first. He held his breath and tried not to inhale any of the dust, or to let his thumping heart give his location away. As for his stomach, he decided that would probably be OK as long as the person approaching wasn't Andrew Ridgeley.

Keats arrived. There was no other word for it. He '_arrived', _appearing in the doorway like an enigma. He stood still for a few seconds, letting his eyes scan the room.

"I know you're in here, Shoebury," his voice was slow and steady. Simon swallowed hard, his pulse growing faster with every second that passed. "Victoria gave you the keys. She told me." Simon tried to stay hidden and listened as Keats's footsteps began to come a little closer. "Just wondering what _files_ could possibly be of such importance to you. What do you think you're going to find in here? I've not got Robin locked away if that's what you're thinking." Simon heard him give a malevolent laugh. "not yet, anyway."

The VCR chose that moment, that _precise_ second, to spit out its contents.

Of all the moments it could have chosen, that was the time that it decided it had waited for long enough.

With his heart pounding, Simon swore repeatedly in his head. He closed his eyes, certain that was it. It was over. Keats was going to find him and his fate would be sealed. He'd be roasting his balls over hot coals by tea time, he was certain.

Keats approached the video slowly and bent down to see what had come from the machine. The sight of Kim's name had been unexpected. It brought tiny gasp to his throat. He felt something peculiar inside, the sensation of his stomach turning over and his heart beating double-time. Those three letters on the side of the tape brought sweat to his palms. He ran his tongue around his lips anxiously. He reached out to take the tape but found his hands were trembling. He couldn't understand or explain it, neither did he know how to deal with it.

He tried to take the tape, to throw it to the ground, to destroy, it but something overtook him. A need and a yearning in his heart. With trembling hands he reached forward and pushed the tape back into the slot where it whirred and moaned a few times. Before he could stop himself his fingers reached forward, turned on the TV and pressed _play_ on the VCR_._

A moment later the picture appeared before him, rejoining where Simon had left it; Kim's body lying in the floor with blood pooling around it. The knife lying beside her, the wound in her stomach gushing with the liquid of life, sirens wailing in the background and a distant blue light coming ever closer.

The image burned through Keats's mind like flame, scarring him, branding itself into his memory. He felt a terrible nausea rising from his belly and storming through his chest. He had watched so many tapes, none of them making him feel any less than ecstatic, some of them positively sending him orgasmic. Not once had he experienced a sensation like this. The sight of Kim laying sprawled on the wet grass, her very life hanging in the balance, was the one sight that had the ability to shock tears into his eyes.

Suddenly there was a bolt of static and the picture started to roll. Keats shook a little, trying to gain back a little control of his emotions. He recalled watching Simon's tape that morning. When the picture had started to roll _then, _a programme he'd never wanted to witness had burst through from beneath it. Fearing the same thing was about to happen he began to stumble forward in preparation to eject the tape but before he had a chance the picture cleared and a very different shot appeared.

From the loud, dark, dank image of Kim's blood smeared body to a bright, clean and clinical image of an operating theatre, a steady bleeping sound and the medical chatter of surgeons the only soundtrack to the picture. Kim's body was open, at the mercy of the medical experts who were gathered around her. Her body was in vision, her soul was elsewhere.

Keats was surprised to find his limbs growing heavy and weak, witnessing her mortality on the screen before him had shaken him inside to the point at which he couldn't function any more. He sank slowly to the ground, his eyes fixed on the screen before him as a voice concluded;

"_That's it… the bleeding's stopped. Good work, everyone," _

Keats became acutely aware of a sensation he wasn't used to, a strange feeling on his cheek. It was with some horror that he reached up to find his face was damp. He traced the line of water to his eye and pulled his hand away from his face to stare at the tears on his fingers. His hand started to shake uncontrollably before him, the sight of the moisture striking him as the most ludicrous, sickening thing he had ever seen.

His eyes turned from his fingers back to the screen as the surgeons congratulated each other.

_"Let's get her sewn up and take her through."_

Sensing that something wasn't quite right, Simon took he risk of peering around the side of the boxes, shocked to find Keats on the ground in some sort of trance-like stupor. His eyes flicked to the television, shocked to see the images of surgery on the screen and wondering what on earth an episode of Casualty was doing on Kim's tape before he realised that the patient on the operating table _was_ Kim. He only just managed to stop himself from gasping.

The screen flickered and fizzed a little and the picture cut out again, then spluttered back on showing a different scene; a hospital ward. A bed in ICU. A bleeping of machine, working every moment of the day, monitoring and preserving her life.

Beside her bed sat a woman with slightly greying hair while a middle-aged man stood in the corner of the room. The picture didn't change very much for several moments until suddenly the women by her bed gave a cry, leaned forward and started to shout,

"_She's waking up! John, I saw her! She opened her eyes!"_

The man rushed out of the room, yelling for a doctor or a nurse whle two other people came racing in; one a woman of Kim's age with shoulder-length black hair and one a girl in her teens who looked like a younger version of Kim herself. They ran to her bed, crowded around her, hugged her wildly and screamed with excitement as a doctor entered and tried to clear a path to her bed.

Two sets of eyes spilled over with tears, each watching the footage from a different point of view. Simon stared, full of emotion, joy for Kim at returning home, jealousy at the fact he will never wake up amongst the family he adored, de ja vu from his awakening after his first visit to Gene's world, sadness that Robin didn't have a loving family like Kim's around him as he awoke and a yearning to tell her how much love she has to look forward to when she is able to wake from her coma.

Keats sat in silence, staring at the screen with unfamiliar tears forcing themselves down the sides of his face. He couldn't stop them if he tried, but for some reason he didn't even attempt it. He felt numb and lifeless as he watched, his heart breaking more with very moment hat passed. It was that feeing again… that strange emotion he'd only felt for the first time the day before. It was loss, but this time not for the baby, the loss that he has unwittingly inflicted upon himself, but for losing Kim from his grasp and from his world.

Anger at himself began to burn inside him as the sight of Kim's girlfriend and little sister hugging and dancing while her parents cried tears of joyful relief over her bed. Anger at what he was feeling. Anger that he had let himself begin to fall for somebody from a dalliance that started with such a malevolent roots. Two voices fought inside of his head; two voices fighting for supremacy. Flashes of sights and sounds bombarded his mind - the first time he spoke to her in the tone that pulled her in, that night on the back seat of Gene's car, taking her over a desk in the basement, catching her candidly smiling when she thought he wasn't looking, the necklace he kept as a souvenir the first time he felt something other than physical pleasure, watching her on the dance floor from a distance, the darkness that fell upon him as she told him she would no longer see him and the image of her lying in her hospital bed as the nurse revealed to Keats the secret that tore him up inside.

He thrust his head in his hands as two opposing voices tried to battle for his attention; the dark malevolence that used her, weaving a spell to make her do his dirty deeds then succumb to his evil desires and the tiny, buried inkling of something almost human that awoke in her presence and reeled in horror at what he had done.

The tape came to an end and began to rewind automatically. The sound of it whirring brought his head out of his hands and he stared at the screen as it sparkled and crackled; no death or pain or suffering but no light, no hope, no joy either. Just a fuzz of black and white flecks, jumping and dancing around in front of his eyes.

The tape finished rewinding and ejected. Keats stared at the tape for a few seconds before slowly taking it from the slot in his trembling fingers. He looked at it, stared at the label. _Kim._ He never called her Kim. Only Kimberley. Twice he'd said Kim. Only twice, and she didn't hear either. Both had been in the middle of the night when he'd watched her sleeping.

Rage and heartbreak began to take control of his limbs and he focused those elements into his hands, trying with all his might to break the tape but it wouldn't snap. In fury he grasped the tape hard and threw it to the ground with all his strength. Pieces of plastic flew in all directions compounded by his foot s he brought it down hard on the top of its remains.

An almighty cry streamed from his lungs; wild, inhuman, unbearable. It made Simon cover his ears and close his eyes as the vibration shook his bones and brought to his head the kind of pain he hadn't felt since he'd had an all too close encounter with a server many months earlier.

He watched Keats as his body flailed and thrashed, his hands grasping at anything he could find and throwing objects in all directions. He lifted one box of papers and tapes, then threw it across the room. It struck a wall and sent its contents flying out at all angles but with the action of its crash it brought a far more terrifying image to the room.

Where once walls of grey painted bricks had stood, now an inferno raged in theoir place. Walls made of pure fire, a heat that did not affect skin, but instead burned right into the depths of the mind. Simon could barely stand to watch as the walls slowly morphed back into the bricks they had been a moment before and a wild and barely lucid Keats fled from the room, up the staircase and away.

Finally Simon left his secret hiding place and crept out from the boxes. His heart was racing and he felt like having another Andrew Ridgeley moment. He looked from the television to the boken tape on the floor and a terrible realisation hit him. He knew where Keats was heading. He knew the destination on his mind, but he didn't know which side of Keats's battle would be the frontrunner when he arrived there.

As fast as his trembling legs would carry him, he raced from the room and up the staircase, along corridors, down more stairs and through the ground floor of Fenchurch West. He needed help. He had to do anything he could. He didn't know how well his wire was working but he had to give it a go, so he hauled up his shirt and yelled as clearly as he could;

"_Alex! Gene! Keats has flipped! I think he's going to get Kim! If you can hear me, get to the hospital - now!"_

He dropped his shirt and carried on running, out of the doors and into the car park. A trail of bemused officers were left in his wake, wondering why the strange man was telling his stomach to get to the hospital as a matter of urgency, but he'd disappeared too quickly for anyone to question him.

His feet took him at great speed to the visitor's car park where he jumped in his car and started the engine. He could hardly catch his breath, he could hardly even see. Now there was only one thing on his mind, one place to go and one chance to save everything he had left. To save himself, to save Robin, to save Kim and to save the world that Gene and Alex had watched over for so long.

The tape tucked safely into his pocket was the last chance they had. Beyond that, he couldn't imagine any kind of future with Keats at the helm. He knew that good didn't always win the battle over evil. He just hoped that this time the right side would come through.


	62. Chapter 61: One Word, Four Letters

**Chapter Sixty One**

Simon's words had sent a panic through Gene and Alex that neither could quite explain. Gene was the one wearing the headset at the time. His various attempted explanations of what he was hearing had Alex banging her head repeatedly on the desk in frustration. She didn't think that _"Sounds like he's having a fry up," "I think someone's got out the Andrew Ridgeley pictures again," _or_ "now he's watching Casualty!" _were very good explanations. But when his expression changed suddenly she knew something serious was going on.

"Bolly, time to pay Kim an urgent visit, hold the grapes" was not the most comforting sentence she'd ever heard.

Now they were on their way to the hospital, Alex began to feel a nervous anticipation in the pit of her stomach. They weren't butterflies so much as wildebeests, calling her attention to the fact that something serious was approaching.

"Gene," she whispered, "I'm feeling strange again."

Gene began to increase his speed.

"Oh _great," _he muttered, "now I've got you fading in and out an' all? Do I have to stop and adjust the contrast?"

Alex turned away and stared out of the window. Why was it every time a crisis was looming she started getting this occurrence? She took a deep breath and focused on remaining solid.

~xXx~

Kim flicked through the last pages of the magazine. She'd been waiting an hour for the doctors to discharge her. She'd had so much blood taken that morning that she was worried they'd decide to give her a transfusion to top up what they'd just taken.

She glanced at the TV opposite her bed. The weird glow she'd seen emanating from it in the night had left her feeling nervous and disturbed, and she's lacked the enthusiasm for watching any television. The set had stayed off but the memory of the energy around the screen remained.

She threw the magazine to the floor and leaned back against her pillows. Now that she had started to feel somewhat better she was desperate to go home and start to put everything behind her. She knew that wasn't going to be easy. What she'd been through in the last couple of days would leave her with a whole world of issues to work through but she needed to do that in a place where people were not coming and prodding her with thermometers every few minutes.

There were footsteps marching down the corridor. They brought a sigh of relief to her. She awaited the appearance of her doctor with good news, clearance to leave and - most probably - a large supply of iron tablets. The footsteps seemed to stop and she frowned. The doctor had better not have gone to see another patient instead. She was on the verge of leaving with or without permission. She would jump out the window if it came to it.

More footsteps. A figure approaching the doorway.

"_At last!"_ she sighed as the door opened but her words were stolen by a gasp that threatened to turn into a scream as the person she had least expected to show his face arrived.

"_Hello, Kimberley."_

Like a frightened child fearing a monster under her bed Kim grasped her sheets and pulled them up around her neck. Her eyes opened wide and the fear she found swelling inside her was plain to see across her face.

"Keats" she hissed, her breath almost swallowed up by the terror his face brought.

Keats stared at her. He stood there, barely moving. He couldn't work out what to say or what to do. His eyes took in her pale skin, fragile appearance, the lank and flattened hair, holes where her piercings had been removed and the shape of her body under the sheet; the body he'd damaged so brutally with his callous actions.

"I came to…" he tried to speak but he couldn't think of anything to say. The two halves of him were struggling for supremacy and neither had a coherent sentence to share.

"I'll hit the alarm," Kim whispered.

"I just came to…" he tried again his expression flickering between hard and helpless.

"To what?" Kim cried, "finish what you started?"

"I wanted…" he tried to draw himself together, "…to see how you were, Kimberley."

Something rose inside of her. An anger, a frustration, a resentment that had been growing since the very first time he looked her in the eye and sent a spell upon her.

"It's _Kim!"_ she cried, "Not Kimberley! I'm Kim! _KIM!"_

As his eyes fixed upon her face, a tear of anger and terror just starting to roll down her cheek, his eye began to twitch just a little. Kimberley. He _always_ called her Kimberley. When he needed a file - Kimberley. When he wanted something planted in the station, Kimberley. When he wanted something rough against the wall of the basement, Kimberley.

When he watched her sleeping, her chest rising and falling with every breath, her blonde hair against the pillow and her fingers wrapped softly around the sheets, _Kim._

When he stared at her vulnerable body, exhausted from allowing him his deepest desires, unable to protect herself from his hypnotic ways, trying to deny the guilt that crept into his thoughts, _Kim._

When he thought about the words the nurse imparted to him the night before, heard the cry of a baby in his mind, felt the aguish of the loss of his own flesh and blood and saw her curled up in her hospital bed, exhausted from the pain he'd brought to her life, _Kim._

"I'm sorry," his lips let the words though before any part of him could stop them. They caught Kim unawares, bought her silent in shock and froze her gaze upon him.

"What?"

He licked his lips as the words formed again.

"I'm sorry," he took a step forward "Kim… I'm so sorry."

Kim swallowed.

No you're not," she whispered.

"I -" He faltered. His face contorted gripped with emotions he didn't know how to cope with and thoughts he couldn't control. "it's… _You," _he tried to explain, "I can't…"

Kim watched in fear as he began to edge closer. She tried desperately to find the alarm but all she managed to do was to find the button to switch the nightlight on and off. The flashing of the little bulb drew his attention away from her for a split second but did nothing to bring help to her door.

"_Keep away," _she hissed as she scrambled out of the bed. She felt so horribly exposed and vulnerable in her hospital smock. She wished desperately that she'd asked Simon - or anyone - to bring her something from home. Her mind went round in circles as she realised that was a stupid thing to be wishing for when Jim Keats was busy edging in her direction.

His face had changed, as though the flashing of the light had distracted his emotions enough that the other part of him was able to step in and take their place.

"You should have told me," he said flatly.

Kim's face crumpled with confusion.

"_What?"_

"About the baby," he began to back her into the corner of the room, "if you didn't want to raise it we could have…" he came to a halt directly in front of her as she could move back no further, "…reached a deal."

"A _deal?" _ she cried "you're _sick!"_

"If you'd only said…"

"I didn't know!"

"…Things could have been so _different…"_

"I didn't _know!"_ Kim cried, trembling like a leaf as he reached out with one finger and placed it against her chest, right where he could feel her heart beating.

"That was my baby," Keats's voice grew quieter as he spoke. His eye began to jump like a nerve was working overtime and his throat moved as he tried to swallow back he feelings that started to come forth again.

Tears welled in Kim's eyes. She wasn't sure what brought them there, the fear, the look in his eyes or the loss she was only just starting to recognise.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed, her voice unable to break through her silent tears.

Beneath his finger Keats felt her heart rate increase as she began to succumb to the tears that she'd tried so hard to fight back. His palm closed over her heart, feeling the full power of it beating against his hand. He closed his eyes. He remembered feeling that heart racing against him so many times, on so many nights, as he made her want him, need him, give him what he wanted from her.

His lip began to waiver and as hard as he tried he couldn't fight the terrible, agonising pang of guilt that washed across his chest like a wave on a stormy night. Unable to stay upright his legs gave out beneath him and he sank to his knees. As he did so his hand slid down her body, coming to rest over her abdomen, pressed lightly above the bruise that was the only reminder of the life he'd taken. His whole face began to crumble like a rock eroded away by the sea and tears that he couldn't control began to flood his face.

"I'm _sorry,_" he whispered, choking out the words that were so abhorrent to his nature, "I didn't know either."

To Kim's horror and distress he laid his head against her, his arms wrapped around her, clinging to her as though trying to preserve his life in the middle of a stormy ocean. She grabbed at his hands, tore them from behind her and tried to push him away The conflict of sides flashed across his face as one part of him gazed at her, desperate for redemption while the other half blazed with fury and desperate need.

"You needed me as much as I needed you, Kimberley," he whispered.

Kim shook her head.

"I never needed you," she whispered.

As his dark side took over he slowly rose from the ground again.

"You needed me all those nights," he hissed.

"You _made_ me _want_ you," Kim shook her head, "that's not the same thing."

Something in her words twisted his emotions again. He shook his head slowly.

"No," he whispered, the words almost sticking in his throat, "You made me want _you."_

"I didn't do anything!"

"You made me want you," he repeated, "I didn't… never have needed…"

Like a switch flipping in his head again he stared into her eyes, that stare she'd seen so many times. It fixed her, bore deep into her mind and the haze began to surround her once again.

"No," she whispered, tears creeping into her voice, "No, please… _don't…"_

"We were good together," he whispered. His fingers reached up and slowly brushed the side of her quivering face, "you must admit that. We had something."

Kim longed to take control of her body. She wanted to raise one knee into his groin, to inflict the kind of pain upon him that he'd inflicted upon her, to punch his lights out, to push him away, but that hold was taking over as his eyes reached right inside her mind and filled it with an intoxication she was unable to fight. She felt him press his body against her and, with nowhere to go and no way to fight it, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable brush of his lips against her own.

~xXx~

"There's Shoebury," Gene pointed out as he pulled into the hospital car park and parked across two ambulance spaces. He turned to Alex to check she hadn't disappeared. "You still in one piece, Bols?"

Alex nodded, although a strange pain was starting to form over one eye.

"Just about," she said, releasing her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

Gene tried to ignore the nagging doubts as he slammed the door and began to follow the direction he'd seen Simon running in.

"One slightly translucent Alex Drake," he mumbled, "no need to retune your aerial, do not adjust your set."

Alex frowned as she took up the chase.

"Remind me to warn you about Channel Five later," she said.

~xXx~

He'd made her want him again. She hated herself for it but she did. His voice, his eyes, his energy. They'd cast their spell again and she had no power against it.

At the moment she felt his lips press against hers there was a rush of air as the door flew open again and a voice cut through the atmosphere.

"Leave her alone, Keats."

Simon's arrival was the distraction that pulled Keats's attention away from Kim, letting his magic fade and returning to her control of her actions and thoughts. Drained from his deep hold over her and the shock of finding herself so close to giving in to him again she found herself sliding to the floor, gasping in shock and distress.

Keats's angry glare spun toward Simon. Pure bile and hatred rose through his body, his eyes flashing with a mania that made Simon shudder.

"Since when did I take orders from you, DCI Shoebury?" he spat.

"I said leave her alone!" Simon yelled, his anger at Keats overtaking any fear he had.

Keats found Simon's anger most amusing. He even gave a little laugh.

"I don't see what business it is of yours what I do," said Keats, "you belong to me now. Or had you forgotten?"

"But _she_ doesn't," Simon said angrily

"What we do in out own time is no concern of yours," said Keats.

"It is when she's going through hell because of you.

"We're two consenting adults."

"_One_ consenting adult," Simon corrected, "and one hypnotised girl who can't say no."

Keats reached for his gun and a moment later Simon found it pointing at him once again. He was used to that by now.

"It's time to stop pissing me off now, Simon," he said.

"And what's that supposed to do?" cried Simon, "you fired that at me yesterday and nothing happened! You said yourself, I'm indestructible!"

"Oh yes," said Keats, "my mistake." he turned his gun to Kim instead. "There. Is that better?"

Simon swallowed and shook his head slowly as Kim's expression filled with fear.

"You wouldn't."

"You think?"

"I know you wouldn't," Simon said quietly, "I saw you. Saw you watching her tape."

"What tape?" Kim asked quietly.

Simon stared Keats right in the eye. Suddenly he didn't scare him that much any more.

"Tell her, Keats," he stood firm, "tell her about the tapes." He waited for Keats to speak but he stayed still and unresponsive. Simon tried to read his expression but he just couldn't work out what was going on inside that head. "He has tapes," he continued, "tapes of everyone here. Of how they died." he looked at Kim, "or how they go back."

Kim began to tremble. Simon's words filled her with a strange mixture of emotions.

"I have a tape?" she whispered.

Simon nodded.

"I've seen it," he whispered, "I've seen you waking up. Kim… your family are all around you. They're so happy, when they see your eyes open they are just on top of the world. They hug and kiss you, they're cheering and crying…" he felt his eyes misting over, "I'm so happy for you, Kim. You _make_ it. You survive."

"My parents were there?" Kim whispered.

"Yes," Simon nodded, "there was a girl and a woman too."

Kim closed her eyes, one ray of hope washing over her.

"Sandra," she whispered, "and my little sis."

"They're all there for you," Simon said quietly.

Kim's face looked as though it might crumble for a moment.

"They'd be so ashamed of me," her voice gave way to tears, "if they knew what I'd done."

"They'll never know," Simon shook his head, "it'll all stay here."

Finally Keats broke his silence with an almighty laugh.

"Now, Simon," he chuckled, "you of all people know how your past can come back to haunt you."

"And I've learned from that," Simon swallowed, trying to keep his nerve, "I'll make sure you never get the opportunity to follow Kim back to her time."

Kim was still thinking about her family and her partner sitting around her bedside. The thought of all she had done in Gene's world killed her inside.

"How could I have done this?" she whispered, "I hate myself for it. I don't know why I let him persuade me… I don't know how he has such a hold over me,"

"Because that's what he does," Simon spat in Keats's direction, "he walks hand in hand with the devil. He offers temptation and makes promises he's never going to keep."

"Oh, there's one promise I've every intention of keeping," Keats told Simon seriously, "I warned you what would happen. Robins fate has been sealed." He glowered, "and now, so has yours."

He took one step forward. For a moment Kim was forgotten as his top priority became exacting revenge on Simon but before he had a chance a breathless Gene and a slightly pale Alex appeared at the door.

"Back away from the Shoe-Boy," Gene warned.

Keats was unfazed by Gene's arrival.

"DCI Simon Shoebury transferred to Fenchurch West earlier today," he said, "didn't you get that memo?"

"Didn't you get the memo about me shoving my fist down yer gob?" Gene countered.

"Simon's mine," Keats told him.

"Bollocks he is," cried Gene, "transfer has not been approved."

"I'm halfway through the paperwork."

"Then that's halfway towards me shoving the paperwork up yer backside!" yelled Gene, pulling out his gun and aiming it at Keats's head.

"What the hell took you two so long, anyway?" Simon cried, "and, why am I the only one who doesn't have a gun?"

Alex leaned against the doorway, feeling dizzy and a little faint. She glanced across at Kim who was in a tearful mess on the floor.

"Has he hurt her?" she asked Simon.

"No," Simon said fiercely, "and he won't either."

Keats's eyes darted to Simon.

"Shut up," he spat.

Alex turned to Simon with a frown.

"What do you mean, Simon?"

"Because Keats has got a secret," Simon hissed, "haven't you, _Jim?"_

Keats stared at him. A look of horror flashed across his face. For once in his life he didn't know what to do. He let his hand drop to his side, losing his line of fire.

"Silence," he hissed

"Why?" cried Simon, "according to you I've already marked my cards and Robin's,too. Our fate's already sealed, apparently. I've got nothing left to lose. But you have, haven't you?" He watched Keats's throat move as he swallowed anxiously. "You've got everything to lose. Your reputation. Your presence. Your hold. Your position."

"What's this little secret, Jimbo?" Gene asked, "Ridgeley posters on yer ceiling?"

"You've fallen in love," Simon said the four words that would cause more damage to Jim Keats than a thousand guns ever could, "haven't you?"

Eyes of angry flame turned to Simon, a rage building inside of Keats the magnitude of which no one had ever seen before. He began to physically shake, a little at the hands first of all, then through his arms and finally throughout his body. Even his head began to judder as Simon's words let loose something inside him that he had been working to bury, 24/7.

"Shut your mouth," he hissed, his voice shaking with every word.

"I saw you," Simon's voice was calm, slow, measured. "I saw you watching her tape. I saw your tears."

"Tears?" spat Keats, "You open your mouth and the biggest load of bollocks…"

"I found the necklace."

"Necklace?" Gene snickered, "what's this, Jimbo? Exploring yer feminine side?

"It's Kim's isn't it?" Simon pressed.

Kim's eyes grew wide.

"_You _stole my necklace?" she whispered, "my sister gave me that necklace… it was my only link to home…"

"Kimberley…"

"That's not all you took from me," Kim whispered, finally building up the courage to speak again, "you took my free will. You took my morals. You took my innocence. You took… _me. _Even before you tied me up and left me on the bed… you already had me prisoner."

"Why did you tie her up if you cared for her so much?" Alex whispered.

"Because there's two sides to him," Simon stared Keats down, "and when she refused to see him again the other side of him saw red."

"Shut the fuck up," Keats began to regain his composure, held his gun forward and aimed it at everyone in turn.

"Can't decide who to threaten first, Jimbo?" Gene asked.

"I'll stick this gun down your throat if you don't shut that big mouth!" cried Keats.

As Kim began to find her strength again she looked around. She couldn't imagine how this stalemate would ever end. It seemed as though they could spend eternity trapped in that room. If Simon was indestructible then surely the same could be said of Keats and Gene? That only left herself and Alex as pawns in the game and she didn't like her chances of survival, tape or no tape. There had to be something. Had to be a way out.

"Come on, Keats," Simon hissed, "We've seen that other side of you. You hide it well, but it's there. After everything, you're just a man."

"I'm far more than that."

"You're just a man," Simon cried, "A man who died."

"_No."_

"A man, like me, whose heart stopped beating."

"Shut up!"

"And I know this as a fact…"

"Fuck you!"

"…Because I was the one who pulled the trigger!"

Almost at the same moment three things happened. The first was that the television set next to Gene crackled and sprung into life. The second was that something ignited inside Keats's head, bringing a desperate cry to his lungs as he prepared to strike out at Simon, each limb of his body screaming to inflict every bit as much pain as Gene had earlier, and hopefully more. The third thing that happened was that Kim had an epiphany as she glanced at the portable, wheely hospital tray sitting beside the bed. The remainder of a meal she had refused to eat still sat on top of it but its build and portability were just right.

She gathered all of her strength, using her anger, grief and humiliation to add force to her actions, and made a grab for the structure. She pulled it towards her as fast as she could, then pushed it as hard as she could manage towards the back of Keats's legs where it hit him round about knee-level and knocked him off his feet with the unexpected nature of the attack.

The distraction gave Simon the opportunity he needed. Reaching inside his jacket, his fingers closed around the tape. _Keats's _tape. For jus a moment he closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and prayed; prayed that the next few moments would change the course of fate.

"_Gene," _he cried, holding the tape aloft. No sooner had Gene glanced up than he found the cassette flying through the air towards him. Thankfully his reactions were fast and he grabbed it from the air, gun still in hand.

He spun around and jammed it into the video slot beneath the television and jabbed at the play button. A mechanical whirring began and all eyes turned to the screen expectantly.

The picture appeared.

And a whole world held its breath.


	63. Chapter 62: The Director's Cut

**Chapter Sixty Two**

Five pairs of eyes stared at the screen. Five faces filled with a mix of emotions. Five bodies frozen as the world around them faded into the background.

"_Molton, Breech, round the back way. Keats, side alley. Bateman, you're round the front with me."_

A young man looked at his superior officer with trepidation.

"_Sir, they said they might be armed…"_

He was younger, a little skinnier, hair a little shorter, expression a world more innocent, but he was familiar to all of them. To one of them, more familiar than anything.

"_Listen to the baby on the beat," _one of the others laughed, a chuckle spreading amongst the uniformed men and women, _"ooh, they might have a water pistol! They might have a stink bomb!"_

"_They said at the briefing we weren't to do anything without the back up of drugs squad."_

"_No one is stepping in and taking this arrest away from us,"_ his sergeant barked, _"either you're on the team or off it - permanently."_

The scared young man looked around. The kind of back-up he wanted wasn't necessarily a car full of detectives - it was one person, just one damn person, to step up and voice a note of caution. Just one word. Just a simple 'he's got a point' or 'maybe we should wait' or 'this isn't right' but the only sounds around him were the mocking laughter of his peers.

"_But the safety -"_

"_- protocols are there to stop us from getting these home-brew heroes off the streets and into jail!"_

"_Keats wants his mummy to hold his hand on this one."_

Four pairs of eyes turned to one man. One man who couldn't tear his own eyes away from the television screen. One man whose eyes started to glisten and whose lip began to tremble almost imperceptibly.

"_I know the protocols aren't being followed!" _the young man pleaded, _"if we don't get this right anything could happen."_

"_And if we do get it right this will be the collar to put your name on the map, Keats, so either stop your whining and get into that alley or get your backside off my shift."_

_Sir…"_

"_That's an order! Get in that alleyway! We're go!"_

Around the television set the atmosphere could hardly have been thicker. Simon swallowed as he watched. This wasn't what he was expecting to see. He'd expected to see himself on the screen, securing Keats's fate in 2010. He hadn't expected the tape to go right back to the start, to see his entry into Gene's world the first time around. He looked at Keats who was stepping closer to the television. He seemed to lose height suddenly, his whole body starting to fold into a shadow if its usual proud stance. He opened his mouth just a little, his lips trying to express the thoughts and feelings that his brain were scrambling to create and to cease in equal measures.

"They just…" He tried to speak, "he just wanted them to follow the proper protocols…" his tongue quickly ran around his lips, "he was just trying to do the right thing… Just trying to…"

He trailed off as he watched a terrified young man pushed by his superior towards the opening of the alley that ran beside the large, decrepit house and raced into the darkness without protection, without back-up and without an ounce of willing to be there.

From above, an open first-floor window a man dressed in black jumped, grasping onto something solid and deadly. Landing inches from the young PC he held the item aloft and took a swing. The tape was a little unclear… was it a cricket bat or a baseball bat? It was hard to tell, but either way the copper wasn't going to be identifying it. Despite one helpless cry of _"Stop -"_ the young man didn't stand one single chance against this brutal weapon of choice.

_Smack -_ one very hard crack over the back of the head.

One young copper falling to the ground.

A second swing, one more crack to the head.

_Bat dropped, footsteps racing. _

Shouts - cries - men caught and bundled away.

One young copper, found face down in the alley way.

Flashing blue lights, paramedics, but nothing to take away from that young copper, a whisker from death, caused not only by the man with the makeshift weapon but also by the man who was supposed to instruct and protect him.

"That's why," Keats tried to speak but his voice was breaking again, "it's so important to follow proper procedure. It's vital… vital for the safety… the safety of…"

He couldn't speak any more. His words had wound themselves down. Just as he began to flail and lose himself in the overwhelming anguish of watching himself, so much younger, so much brighter, losing the person he'd once been the picture flickered and rolled, gradually giving way to static before suddenly springing back into focus again.

A different scene, A familiar spot. The car park at Fenchurch East.

Gene visibly bristled. He took a deep breath and edged back just a little.

"Christ," he whispered.

Simon and Kim both looked at him, confused, unsure what had provoked such an unexpected response while Alex reached out and laid her hand on Gene's arm. She knew what was coming and it sickened her to think about. Watching it was going to be even worse, but somehow she couldn't pull herself away. Neither could Gene. Like people passing by a car crash they couldn't stop looking.

A figure burst out of the doors of Fenchurch East. Fast. _Manic. _Legs moving at roadrunner-esque speed. Simon almost wanted to add a comedy 'Meep-meep' noise but that was more his nerves talking. He couldn't understand why he was seeing or why. It made no sense to him at all.

The figure, draped in a dark coat, just carried in running and couldn't stop, such a pace he was running that he couldn't even come to a halt as he reached the end of the car park and flew out into the road beyond. From nowhere a Jeep sped into view, stuck him and sent him through the air like a toy that an ungrateful child had tossed away. The sound as his body hit the ground made every last one of them flinch and Simon was in serious danger of paying another emergency visit to the bathroom.

The screen showed a close-up. The face had gained a few years, a little more wear, a little longer hair but it was a very familiar man none the less.

Once again four pairs of eyes turned to Keats. This time the sight sent him backing in the opposite direction, away from the screen rather than towards, it, bile rising inside of him which he gulped away. He had no words to share, just a tiny gasp in anguish as the sight of Gene and Alex skidding to a halt beside his still and lifeless form made his stomach lurch.

He watched the two figures standing, staring, doing nothing to help or to see if he was alive. His eyes flickered to them both standing at the door and neither could meet his gaze, They both knew it would only get worse from there.

Another voice was heard coming from the speakers as the shot widened and a young, enthusiastic woman rushed to his aid.

_"Oh my good God!__"_

Simon's hand rose to his mouth in shock. He knew that voice.

_"For goodness sake, someone call an ambulance!" _

"_Susannah,"_ he whispered her name, a lump rising in his throat as he recalled holding her body just the day before as her soul passed on.

"_It's OK! I know first aid!"_ she cried.

They watched in silence as she ran to him despite Alex's best attempts at stopping her, felt for a pulse and cocked her head to check for breathing. Every last one of them flinched as the still, half-dead figure on the ground suddenly found strength, reached out and grabbed her. He held her tightly, gripped her face in his hands and let his nails sink deeply into her flesh.

"_I'm not dead yet," _he hissed as she gasped for help

Gene turned around. He couldn't bear to watch what happened next. It was akin to watching an unexpectedly sexy movie with your parents in the same room.

On the screen, another Gene knelt down beside him and pressed his gun against his head. There was not a flicker of doubt on his face.

_"I've seen inside you, Hunt," _they heard Keats hiss, "_your finger will never pull that trigger. You can't do it."_

"I've seen inside you, too," Gene's voice played _"whatever you used to be, there's nothing human left now."_

Keats stared at Gene who was still facing away. He shook just a little as he tried to express words that refused to budge from his throat for quite some time. Finally they escaped in a flurry of pain.

"Yes there was," he whispered, "there _is…"_

But the images on the screen told a different story as Keats began to drain the life out of Susannah. The blast as Gene fired his gun shocked every single one of them, causing them to jump and flinch, and the horrific sight of the blood, the brains, the entry and exit wounds made every last one of them retch.

_"Goodbye Jim," _had been Gene's parting words to him.

Simon's mouth fell open just a little and he looked up at Gene who awkwardly caught his eye. When he heard the minimal details of Keats' exit fro the eighties he'd had no idea how gruesome it had been nor what Gene had done. The image of Keats draining away Susannah's life, to take her place, to steal her energy and to live on in her place would haunt Simon forever, but so would the sight of Keats sprawled on the ground, a mess of a head and a mess of a man.

The picture rolled again and Gene slowly turned around, finally standing to look again as the picture changed to one of a hospital ward. There he was, Jim Keats, eyes flickering slightly. Voices floated around him, snippets of doctors and nurses. His ears only took in partial sentences, things that didn't always make sense. He was quite glad of the ones that didn't make sense. They took his mind off the ones that did.

"…_see his eyes opening now…"_

"…_been four years. How does a man ever get over missing that much life?"_

"…_will be months before he will be able to talk again…"_

"…_We hope one day he will learn to walk again…"_

"…_and his mother died more than a year ago so he's got no family either…"_

"…_has been paying his rent while he's been comatose. Worried about him suing them for causing his…"_

"…_well he's the stupid prat who went down an alley unarmed…"_

"…_never go back on the beat. Stick him behind a desk…"_

"…_wonder what he's been dreaming about for four years?…"_

"…_James? James, can you hear me?…"_

"…_He's back… James is back…"_

Keats stared at a man he didn't eve recognise.

"No," he whispered, "_James_ wasn't back. James didn't exist any more. Hadn't done for a long time. Not for years."

The picture jumped and fizzed its way off the screen and gave way to a few seconds of dead tape. Gene and Alex began to visibly relax, believing that there couldn't possibly be any more to see, but Simon knew differently. This time it was his turn to look away. He couldn't face it. He still had flashbacks to the real thing. He didn't need to see the director's cut.

The picture returned. Another hospital room, but this time Keats was not the patient.

Alex gave a gasp, her hand rose to her mouth involuntarily and she breathed;

"Oh my god."

Gene couldn't understand her reaction at first but looking a little more closely at the face in the hospital bed brought some answer. He shuddered and gave an audible gulp. There she was; Alex. Bolly. _His_ Bolly. Except she wasn't his. She was in another world. It brought a very solid and real dimension to all the fears he'd carried for the last ten years, that one day the Alex in that hospital bed in 2010 would wake up and take his Bolly away from him.

"Shit," he breathed, shaking his head a little.

There were two men in the room with her. Both familiar. Both watching the imaged unfold on the television set. Simon; pale, weak, despondent. Keats; manic, wild, focused on the revenge he'd waited years to exact.

_"Hunt isn't something you can forget," _Keats's voice echoed around the stark white room on the screen , "_like your eyelids remember to blink, and your stomach remembers to digest. Your mind remembers Gene Hunt. Once you've met him," he spat in distaste, "you can't get the parasite out of your head."_

Gene glanced at Keats and raised an eyebrow.

"Well if that's not the most flattering description of the Gene Genie I've ever heard I don't know what is," he said, but Keats didn't even glance at him. His eyes were focused on the screen once more.

_"So what was last night all about?"_ Simon flinched at the sound of his own voice, _"If you'd found me then why not just kill me?"_

_"Oh, believe me, I thought about it," _the Keats on the screen told him,_ "for many months and years I imagined finally tracking you down and thought about how to stop you breathing the same air as me. But by the time I found you it didn't seem like enough somehow. When Alex took away my chance at taking you it was just the start of the end for me. Between her and Hunt I saw all my hopes slip away and ended up back here, in a clapped out body and a job with no authority. I had to start all over again. I should have had your soul, moved on, job done for now, back for Hunt and DI Drake when I had the chance."_

Alex shuddered, her eyes turned to Keats and she developed a look of anger across her face.

"How can you hold me responsible for anything?" she whispered.

"You…" Keats's eyes flickered to her for a moment, laden with things he wanted to say, unspoken thoughts that wouldn't come forth.

Simon braced himself for what was coming. It wasn't something he wanted to relive and it wasn't something he wanted Alex or Gene to see.

_"So you wanted me to suffer?" _he heard himself say on the tape.

His eyes flicked to Keats.

"And apparently you haven't changed a bit," he whispered.

There wasn't a person in the room who didn't shiver at the sound of the words that followed, Keats himself included.

_"If I couldn't take your soul the I could at least destroy it. you going slowly round the bend and losing everything. You looked so innocent laying there in bed, all peaceful and quiet. Must have been having sweet dreams, eh? I quite enjoyed the drugging as well. Amazing what you can find laying around in CID. GHB, Rohypnol__… One man's evidence is another man's…"_

"_You bastard!"_

Alex stared at Simon, finally starting to realise the full horror of what he'd been through at the hands of Keats in his own time. Now she finally got it. She finally understood why Simon had been so deeply affected by Keats's threats. He knew, maybe more than any of them, that there was no level he wouldn't stoop it

"Oh Simon," she breathed, her lip wavering a little.

The image on the screen turned from one of verbal horror to physical violence as Simon lunged forward in an attempt to harm Keats in some way but the gun Keats had pointed in his direction fired faster than Simon could move. The sound of the gunshot ringing out through the room, the sight of Simon clutching his stomach and falling to the ground as blood began to seep from his wound, the horrifying sight of Keats heading toward the comatose Alex - there wasn't a part of the picture that failed to disturb them.

The images that followed shocked them into total silence. It seemed to happen so fast - Keats closing in on Alex with a pillow to smother her beautiful features and bring a end to her life, the desperation on Simon's face as he pulled together every last ounce of strength in his body to grab for Keats's ankle and try to pull him off balance, the foot coming down hard on Simon's head as Keats shook him off like a yappy dog - every moment played out like a soap opera.

The onlookers could scarcely believe it as they watched a desperate Simon scramble across the floor to use a portable resuscitation machine to shock Keats then bring him crashing to the floor before grabbing the gun as it fell from his hand.

Simon had to look away as his image on the tape pressed the gun into the side of Keats's neck and pulled the trigger. He could feel Gene's eyes turning to him but couldn't bring himself to meet his stare. They had something else in common, apparently. This was one similarity no two people wanted to share, being members of the _I Killed Jim Keats club._

Keats felt himself stumbling, tumbling, unable to stay on his feet. He fell backwards until the end of the bed caught his fall and helped him to steady himself. His eyes stayed on the screen as doctors and nurses flocked to the room, alerted by the commotion, and tried to revive both men as they lay motionless in two separate pools of blood on Alex's hospital room floor.

"You… that was…" he failed to express his emotions as his whole body trembled violently. His moth hung open and his eyes were wide but unfocused. He was desperate to scream but he couldn't force out any sound through his vocal chords. His eyes scanned from Simon to Alex to Gene, each one of them featuring on his tape. The sight of them made him retch, a deep dark anguish building inside of him.

How to cope? How the _hell_ to cope? Hs stomach churned horribly while his head developed an ache that grew worse with every second that passed.. He could hardly breathe. His chest wouldn't allow enough oxygen into his body to thrive.

With the images of his body still playing on the screen, he couldn't stand it any longer. His heart and his mind shattered inside of him, tears pouring from his terrified eyes and a disjointed, agonised sob emanating from his mouth he turned away from the screen and from the three other players in the video of his deaths.

Behind him Kim sat in stony silence, her face ashen and drawn. She seemed to tremble as she caught his gaze. In a move more unexpected than anything they had seen on that tape she slowly pulled herself shakily to her feet, eyes glistening with tears, and gradually opened up her arms towards him. For a moment he hesitated, thinking it was some sort of a trick or trap but almost immediately he was drawn to her unconditional gesture. Like a frightened animal cowering from the storm he juddered as tears racked his body while she placed shaking arms around him, whispering,

"_No one should have to see that… that was too much… too cruel…"_

Simon, Gene and Alex looked at each other in silence, the shock of what they were seeing had killed their thoughts stone dead. Staring at Keats, it seemed like someone had taken out his mind and replaced it with someone else's. Something had broken inside of him. No one knew what to say, so nobody tried to verbalise the moment.

The silence might have gone on for an eternity had the television set not given our a crackle of static. It was quickly followed by a second, louder burst which caught the attention of everyone. On the screen, the tape of Alex's hospital room was still paying but between it came bursts of her room without a dead Keats and a half-dead Simon sprawled on the ground. Flickering between the two scenes, the strange image brought a shudder to everyone in the room, watching and waiting for something to happen.

"_I've come to…"_

A voice seemed to come from nowhere. It flowed through the speakers from the television set but one of the spectators received the words in stereo. Alex reached up and held her head as the words echoed inside of her mind as well as though the TV. There was a third bolt of static and the volume of the voice increased as it completed its sentence -

"…_say goodbye."_

Alex screamed and slammed her hands over her ears the intensity of the sound coming from inside and outside of her mind, blasting her ears like a heavy metal concert.

As the others watched the screen a man walked closer to Alex's hospital bed and sat down beside her. Like a camera moving towards its subject the image began to close in on his features.

"_It's over for me."_

Like a blow to the stomach, the sight on the screen sent Simon reeling.

"_Robin?"_

The sound of his voice even brought Keats's juddering meltdown to an end. He turned away from Kim, leaving her comforting arms to see the face of a desperate man on the screen.

"_I've tried,"_ Robin leaned over Alex's bed, his head in his hands, _"I did what I could but it's not worth fighting any more. It's just not worth fighting when I've got nothing to stay for…"_

The pain in Alex's head was chronic as the voice boomed in her ears as well as from the television set. She held her head and turned to Gene as he looked at her with concern.

"I can't stop it," she whispered "it's so loud…"

Simon fell to his knees in front the screen, crawling close and closer until his nose was inches from the picture.

"_Oh God, Robin," he whispered._

"_I tried… I really did, but there's no reason for me to fight,"_ Robin insisted to Alex's comatose body, "_It's not like I've got anyone here for me. Simon's dead, I've got no family, all I've got to look forward to is prison. I've already been suspended without pay. They're going to find me guilty and I'm going to rot in jail."_

"No, Robin!" Simon cried. He tried thumping the television, "You Won't! You're innocent! They're not going to send you to prison."

"_I spent Christmas all alone," _Robin's voice became strained and tearful, _"Simon's family.. They tried but…"_

"Robin, listen!" Simon screamed. He tried hitting the side of the television this time and begged with the image of the man he loved so much to keep strong and keep going but he couldn't hear him. He had no idea.

"_So I'm going to do the only thing I can,"_ Robin's voice was weak now. He had no fight left in him. _"I thought waking up was the hard part. But then I woke up and they told me he didn't make it…"_

"Oh god, Rob…"

"…_and then they charged me, took away my job… no love, no money, now I'm going to lose my freedom too…"_

"You _won't_, Robin!" Simon screamed. He turned frantically to Alex. "Tell him!" he cried, "Please, Alex, can't you tell him?"

Alex had tears starting to form in her eyes. The pain in her head was fading a little and she could focus more on what was happening in the room. She shook her head slowly and bit her lip, trying to stop the tears from falling.

"Simon, I can't," she whispered, "I'm not there… my _body_ is but…. But I'm not."

"Can't you do _anything?"_ Simon was desperate. He was grasping at straws and knew it but he didn't what else to do.

"I'm sorry, Simon."

Robin's tears began to fall now.

"_I want to make sure I die in the same year I lost Simon," _he said quietly,_ "so I'm going to do it tonight."_

"_No!"_ Simon's screams became frantic and deafening, "No, Robin! _Listen to me!"_

"He can't hear you," Gene's words were quiet and broken. He knew he wasn't telling Simon anything that he didn't already know but that didn't make it any easier.

"There's got to be a way!" Simon cried,.

"_Got some pills… painkillers I_ _saved from after the accident, antidepressants, sleeping pills…"_

"NO!"

"_Should be quick and painless…"_

"Robin! NO!"

"Jim?"

A quiet whisper from Kim caught the attention of everyone, even Simon. The broken, human expression that Keats had worn a moment earlier was fading away with each second that passed as every word he heard Robin say brought him a little more strength and took away a little more of what he'd just seen on the tape.

"_If I'd known what would happen I would never have fought to survive… never fought to wake up…"_

"Jimbo," Gene began warningly, "don't tell me we just wasted the director's cut for no reason."

Keats stared at the screen, stepping slowly forward. One side of his face began to twitch. The twitch grew stronger. For a horrible moment it twisted into a smirk.

"Oh _no,"_ Kim's voice was layered with genuine disappointment and sadness, "please… you've come so far… don't go back to him now…"

"…_but anyway… maybe that's where I'll be coming back to,"_ Robin's words echoed, "_so maybe I'll be back where I should be anyway. With Simon."_

"Robin, no!" Simon screamed. His hands slammed the sides of the television set, "you won't come back to _me!_ you'll be going to _him"_

"_So I'll say goodbye now…"_ Robin's voice broke a little more, "_tell Simon… tell Simon I'll see him soon."_

"_NO!"_

A smile spread across Keats's face. What was broken began to mend. The heart that had shattered began to reform. The tears he'd shed began to fade into the distance and the guilt, the loss, the love and the anguish were slowly swallowed up by a hunger and a greed, a deliciously malevolent smile and a strong, powerful stride toward the television set.

"Yes, Robin," he said quietly, _"I'll_ be seeing you soon."

Simon looked up at him, an anger and a rage building inside him. How could the switch have flipped inside of Keats so quickly? How could he have lost his human side in an instant? That human side was what he needed to bring forth - that human side was the one chance Robin had - but if it was so weak compared to the monster Keats had become then how would it ever stand a chance?

"Please," Simon tried one last time to bargain with him, rising from his knees and looking him straight in the eye, "You know this isn't right."

Keats gave Simon a smile.

"I'm looking forward to welcoming Robin to the team," he said, "Oh sorry - I forgot, you'd opted _out _of my team, isn't that right? Transfer denied." He popped up his collar and licked his lips. "well, never mind. You won't want to be around to watch what happens to Robin. It's probably best you stay in blissful ignorance over on the other side. Never mind, Simon. At least you can be sure Robin will be warm at night.

"You _bastard!"_ Simon couldn't hold back his fury and he ran for Keats, threw a punch in his direction but missed. Keats grabbed his arm and pushed him backwards then raised his gun and fired a shot at him, forgetting that it would have no effect. To form a distraction he fired three more random shots before pushing past Kim, sending her flying, and reaching the window which he opened with ease and slipped out onto a flat roof below.

As Robin's parting words to the comatose Alex played over the screen the final resting place of Keats's three bullets became the focus of those left behind.

One grazed Kim's shoulder causing her to scream and drop, one hand held firmly over the wound.

One ricocheted off of a bedpan with a comedy 'ping' noise that would have been well suited to a western.

But the final bullet had found flesh. Flesh, and bone.

A gasp, a cry that could never quite turn into a scream, brought all eyes to Alex as her legs and body gave way beneath her.

"_Bolly,_" Gene's word escaped with an anxious breath as he stooped over her, trying to find out what happened.

The answer stared back at him from her forehead; an echo of 2008 that brought a scream from deep within Gene, the likes of which neither Simon nor Kim had ever heard before. It was a scream that said everything he couldn't express in words.

A bullet in the brain for Bolly, and Gene was the one whose heart was breaking.

_**~xXx~**_

_**I've been trying to post a chapter a day but on account of the fact that today's my birthday and I'm off on a big adventure to seek redemption at The Railway Arms I'm not sure if the next part will be up tomorrow or Monday. I'm way behind on replies again because it's been a hectic week but I'll catch up tomorrow! Thank you so much for your comments and reviews - I totally appreciate all your thoughts and hope you'll stick with it to the end! -x-**_


	64. Chapter 63: Alex, and Alex Again

**Chapter Sixty Three**

How strange perceptions of time can be.

How can some moments seem to last an eternity while others are over in the blink of an eye?

For Alex, time slowed right down.

It was strange; the first three gunshots seemed to happen so fast that she couldn't make a lot of sense of it. When the fourth bullet began to come towards her, everything went into reverse and time slowed to a snail's pace. The moment held such an echo, such a parallel with 2008 that she may as well have been standing in front of Arthur Layton again. In the split second before the bullet struck her she managed to have three separate thoughts. The first was; _I can't bear to feel that pain again. _The second was; _Where the hell is his one going to take me? _The final thought she had before the bullet pierced her flesh and brought her to the ground was, _Oh my god, please don't let Gene have to take me._

With that, her body shut down and all that she could do was to succumb to an all too familiar pain and situation.

For Kim, the moment couldn't have gone any faster. She was bowled over at the speed things changed. One minute an overwhelming sympathy and sadness for Keats had called her to bring to him the kind of human gesture and warmth that he doubtlessly hadn't experienced in many years. The next, something inside of him flicked over again as the sight of a desperate Robin on the TV screen reminded him that the other side was still there within him and it had been ruling him predominantly for so long that it was hard for his weaker side to fight it.

From there, everything happened in a moment; a flash. An instant. It seemed like no time at all from the moment he left her arms to the moment he fired his gun. After the second shot she felt a searing pain through the top of her shoulder and crashed to the ground, clutching it as blood seeped through her hospital gown. She was vaguely aware of Keats pushing past her and knocking her further backwards and a scream from Gene that almost stopped her heart. Never before had so much happened in so little time.

For Keats, everything happened in real time; both sides of him struggling to exist. The human side that his tape brought out of hiding was experiencing such a depth of pain that it was a blessed relief when the other side began to step out of the shadows and chase him away. But ultimately, there was a whisper of humanity that watched in horror as his other side fired away before trying to find an escape route.

He was trying to escape not just from the situation and the people, but from himself. He had never felt so torn or confused. Two sides were ripping him apart and all he wanted to do was run, run from them both, run from his past and away from any future that awaited him.

He wanted to make Simon suffer, to use Robin as a pawn against him, to make both their lives miserable and torturous for eternity. He wanted to see Gene on his knees, to take everything away from him to force his world to crumble around him and leave him buried beneath it. But there was another part of him that wanted to shut out the voices that were talking right over it, to return to the warmth of Kim's outstretched arms, to go back and erase everything that had happened since the night someone took a bat to his head and changed him forever.

For Simon, he felt as though the time had started to speed up to the point of no return. He couldn't understand how he had gone from watching Keats crumbling before his eyes to watching Robin on the screen giving up the will to live. Then there was gunfire and a fleeing Keats before he even had chance to think about what was happening. He desperately wanted things to slow down as though he could ever find time to think of a way out of this, to come up with a solution to the impossible. He couldn't understand how so much could happen in seconds.

For Gene, time had never moved so slowly. From the moment he saw Alex's body begin to fall, slow-motion took a hold of him. The sight of the entry wound on her forehead, the heaviness of her limp body dropping on the ground, the sound of his own scream - they happened as though someone had made a mockery of time and turned seconds into hours.

It was funny, Gene thought to himself, how your life was supposed to flash before your eyes when your own life was in danger. The same happened to him as he saw Alex's life ebbing away before him. He saw glimpses of the last 15 years, times they'd shared, moments from her time in his world. All at once the most enormous, deep regret settled upon him for the time they'd wasted, being so cautious, knowing that one day Alex would be leaving his side. But this was not the exit from his world he'd expected to take.

He could hear a scream, an almost inhuman cry with a pain so deep that words could never describe it. He didn't even realise the scream was coming from him. The sight of his Bolly laying on the floor hit him with a physical pain he had never felt in his life. The moment she fell, his own heart died.

There were a few moments of silence. Seconds where the world was still. No one moved no one spoke. It felt as though the world literally stopped turning.

Then one by one they seemed to unfreeze.

Simon was the first to awake from the strange trance that has befallen them. His eyes turned to Alex and watched in horror as Gene's shaking hands slowly lifter her head and pulled her into his lap.

"Oh good god," he gasped, "what -?"

Gene looked up at him. The look on his face was indescribable and broke Simon's heart to see.

"_Get him," _he whispered.

Simon glanced at the open window, then back at Gene where blood was seeping from Alex's wound and slowly gathering in a pool on his lap.

"But _Alex -" _he whispered.

"Just _get him!" _Gene implored, his voice anxious and desperate.

Simon looked from Gene to Alex and back again. The last thing he wanted to do was to leave them but he knew Keats was out there, rampant, confused and liable to do anything. With one last glance at Alex's failing body laying across the floor he took up the chase, ran across the room to the open window and vaulted onto the flat roof with the kind of athleticism he never knew he had in him.

"_Wait!"_ Kim wasn't sure why but she felt a desperate need to follow. She couldn't explain it, something inside her told her that she must. Whether it was her fear for Simon's safely, the last remnants of the hold Keats had placed on her or the willingness to see the man over the monster she had an indescribable urge to follow. Her body still drained and her shoulder hurting like hell, she tried to ignore the physical pains and got to her feet, climbing out of the window the best way her body would allow, but not before pressing the alarm button to call help to Alex's side.

Gene looked at her in horror as her hospital smock gave him an eyeful he wasn't expecting.

"Metal Mickey, you're flashing!" he cried before he forgot about the incident almost immediately as his full attention was drawn to Alex again.

As the alarm sounded and he held her gently on his lap he wished more than anything that he could swap places with her right there and then. Seeing her vanish the day before had been hard enough, but seeing here there and broken killed him inside.

~xXx~

Rushing.

Dashing.

Moving.

Floating.

Flying.

Alex felt a thousand sensations running through her at the same moment.

Two moments a lifetime apart melded together, like a repeating pattern on the wallpaper. Two gunshots, two lives, an echo of the past - or an echo _in_ the past.

Her mind was rushing, her consciousness travelling like the air. It felt like the scariest rollercoaster at the theme park; like the biggest bump in the road that the bus hits at great speed, like the moment the plane takes off to whisk you to a tropical location. Terror, excitement, pleasure, pain, all wrapped up in a speeding, twisting, rushing sensation.

One thought and one thought alone accompanied her.

_Where am I going now?_

~xXx~

Gene pretended the water marks on Alex's face weren't from his tears. She was growing heavier now; colder. He watched her breathing become more shallow until, he was certain, it had stopped. An agony spread through his chest, crushing him with anguish and horror.

"_No_, Bolly," he could barely speak, "don't make me do this. Not for you." His eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see her laying there, feel her body failing in his arms. He didn't want to acknowledge it, didn't want to do what the compulsion raging through his veins told him to. Not to Alex. Not to his Bolly. It wasn't right. It wasn't _right._.

As the alarm rang out, one loud bleep stopped Gene's train of thought and made him open his eyes. It seemed to come from the TV set, not from the room. As his eyes turned to the screen he found the images of Alex's hospital room were still playing. Despite the awful situation at hand he couldn't stop his mind wondering why the television screen was still showing those pictures. Or how, for that matter. How were they all about to see the images that had appeared? It didn't make a lot of sense.

_Beep!_

Another one. What _was_ that? It seemed to catch Robin's attention in the room as well and Gene watched as he came back to the bed instead of leaving the room. He looked around as though trying to locate where the noise was coming from and peered at Alex curiously.

Gene's eyes turned to his own, motionless Alex and one more tear dropped onto her face from the end of his nose as a team of doctors and nurses rushed into the room. It caught him by surprise. He wasn't used to that. Usually the final moments of a copper came in an air of tranquillity in his arms, just him and their soul, but suddenly he found Alex yanked from his grasp and moved onto the floor.

"Ere! Leave 'er alone!" he cried suddenly, confused by the turn of events.

"_Cranial gunshot wound," _one of the doctors said,

"_Pulse is weak."_

"_She's not breathing."_

"_Right, start resuscitation."_

One of them turned to Gene.

"What happened here?"

Gene licked his lips as he tried to make sense of it. It just didn't make any sense to him. His brain couldn't comprehend what has happening. Even though he was in the middle of a hospital the thought of doctors and nurses flocking to their aid seemed completely unthinkable. This wasn't what _happened! _It _wasn't!_

"Err… maniac… gun… went out the window," he blathered, lost for words.

He got slowly to his feet and stepped closer to the medical team working to revive her. Ay other circumstances and he would be making jokes about not letting anyone else give her the kiss of life, but those jokes didn't seem as funny now.

Another bleep from the TV drew his attention away from the commotion and back to the screen as Robin cautiously sat back down beside her, saying _"What the hell is that?"_

"We need a crash team in here now," a doctor's voice brought Gene's attention back to the room. Torn between two Alexes, not sure where to look or what to do, he felt the most fear and confusion he'd ever experienced. Gene Hunt did not usually feel helpless. But, as Keats's human lapses showed, there was a first time for everything.

~xXx~

Alex could feel something. She wasn't sure what, but it was something.

She could hear noises around her. They were muffled at first but she could definitely hear them. There was a whirring like some kind of machinery close by, a voice and a beeping. A slow but steady bleeping that seemed to jar her delicate head.

_This doesn__'t feel right._

She tried to move but her body argued with her about that. Nothing would co-operate. Was she back? She hadn't heard anything about trying to bring her round since her momentary disappearance from Gene's world. There was no fuss, no team of doctors around her waiting for her to open her eyes, no Molly.

_I__'m not supposed to be here._

The voice was becoming clearer now. She began to make out some of the words.

"It wasn't doing that a few minutes ago. Should I call a doctor or…?" the voice trailed off, "sorry, no point asking you, I know. I'm sorry."

That voice was familiar. She wished she could get her brain in gear.

_I__'m intruding here._

She tried to focus on the voice. Who was it? She almost remembered, it was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't quite grasp it.

_Remember, Alex. Remember. You__'re got to remember._

"Well… I'd better go. I've got some loose ends to tie up. Before tonight."

_Robin._

_Oh shit._

She remembered. She remembered now. Robin's 'goodbye.'

_Oh shit! Got to stop him__… can't move…_

She remembered the last images on the TV screen, Robin at his wit's end, desperate for an escape route from an empty life. Simon begging her to stop him. His desperate cries that Robin could never hear. She remembered the bullet flying towards her, the pain, fading out of life and then…

Oh god - she was back. Back in her body. Back in 2010. And Robin was right there beside her, saying goodbye, about to head home and to slip away quietly. She remembered Simon;s desperate, distraught whisper in her ear that morning, telling her the terrible threats that Keats had made. He'd already got his sights on Robin. The only hope he had of avoiding a lifetime of torture and humiliation was if he died through any means other than suicide. Otherwise, Keats would get the one thing that he knew would give him a clean victory over Simon.

The urgency ran through her mind and her body, the sheer desperation of knowing what was at stake and being unable to do a thing to stop it giving her force and will above her human levels.

With every bit of strength and determination in her body she concentrated on one action, one tiny motion that took all the strength she had to save a soul.

She opened her eyes.

~xXx~

Gene saw it.

With his eyes focused on the screen at the right moment, he saw something that scared the shit out of him.

As he saw her eyelids flicker open he spun immediately around, one hundred percent certain he was going to find Alex had disappeared again and that the crash team were trying to revive thin air but there she was; Alex. _Bolly._ there behind him, on the ground, a defibrillator appearing from somewhere and all attempts to resuscitate her. He did a double take, then looked back at the screen where her eyes were clearly still wide open. This didn't make any _sense! _How could she be awake if she was still there beside him?

"Oh God, Bolly," he breathed, "what are you doing to me?" he paused, then added, "…and where _are_ you?"

~xXx~

She knew Robin had seen her eyes open because she heard his stunned gasp. It took every bit of strength she could muster to turn her eyeballs to one side to see him. The light she wasn't used to hurt her eyes but she couldn't let them close, not even for a moment, because she knew if she did she would never be able to prise them open again.

"Oh god… oh my god… _Alex?"_

Robin's voice was shocked and startled, se saw him get to his feet and stumble. For an awful moment she thought he might be about to leave, to run away before she had the chance to save his soul.

_This isn__'t right… this isn't my body…_

She remembered what Simon had told her about Keats expressing the feeling that he had woken up in the wrong body, as a person he wasn't any more. That was how she felt right there and then. She hadn't felt that way the day before when she awoke for a few moments. Although she had felt so terribly confused and torn she still felt at least partly at home. Now? She felt like a stranger in her own skin.

She could already feel the life and energy fading from her mind and her body. She knew she had only moments. What could she do? What could she say? How could she ever express to Robin what was about to unfold or what she needed him to know?

As a psychologist she had run an experiment in which she had asked her subjects to sum up what they would tell a particular person in one word. If they could only use one single word to express a thought or to give a piece of advice then what would that one word be? It had seemed like an interesting and useful exercise at the time. Now she wished she'd tried it out on herself first.

She managed to focus on Robin a little more clearly. He looked scared and overwhelmed, torn between running and staying. She tried to work out how to focus everything she needed to say into one word; a single word of advice to stop him from making the gravest of mistakes. _Stop? Wait? Don't?_ They all had a purpose, but would be better suited to telling someone to wait and look both ways before crossing the road.

She began to panic. She could see him getting ready to move, to leave, to escape the device that she didn't know how to impart. One word. That was all she felt she had within her. One final word before she lost her strength and her grip on that place.

Her mind raced, she felt desperate and angry with herself for struggling to think of something so simple.

Robin looked cautious and bit his lip. She watched his eyes scan the room and then his body beginning to back away. This was it. It was now or never and she only had one chance. With a strength and a motion that she had no idea remained inside of her she reached out in an instant and grasped his wrist. He jumped and gasped at the action as her head tilted just a shade to his side and her raspy voice whispered the one word; the one piece of advice that she had for him, the single syllable that she prayed would save his life.

"_Live,_" she told him.

Then her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she flatlined.

~xXx~

Gene gave an audible gasp and threw his hands over his mouth in a statement of shock that he didn't know how best to express. He wasn't used to being speechless. It wasn't in the Gene Genie handbook. There was no section on _running out of quips or sarcastic one-liners_. All he could do was watch the screen as he heard Alex's voice echo one word, then saw the room disintegrate into chaos as her machines started screaming out and Robin began yelling for a doctor or nurse.

His eyes darted from one room to another, from one Alex to the other, between two sets of doctors and nurses a decade and a half apart, working on two copies of Alex Drake in two different plains of reality. He swore some of the doctors were even the same ones, except the ones in the room had a little less grey hair than their counterparts.

"Come on, Bols," he whispered as the doctors prepared to shock her, then he turned back to the screen. Was it so terrible that he wished on some level her own doctors wouldn't succeed in restarting her heart? That he wanted he to come back to him, to leave her old life and family behind and stay by his side? He hated himself for thinking such a thing but he couldn't pretend he felt any other way.

~xXx~

Robin backed up against the wall, gasping for breath. He felt as though he was about to he a panic attack for the first time in years. He didn't know which part had scared him most - Alex's eyes opening, grabbing his hand, telling him to live or her heart stopping.

He stared at the crew working to revive her, trying to shock her heart into starting again with the same machine that Simon had used to bring down Keats as he tried to kill her where she lay.

"Come on. Alex!" He cried, "you told _me_ to live! You bloody do the same!"

~xXx~

"_And… clear!"_

Gene heard the resuscitation in stereo, one Alex on the screen and one Alex in the room, both receiving shocks, lives at the mercy of doctors and equipment.

He closed his eyes and backed against the wall. He didn't want to look. He couldn't bear to know. He just wanted to run. He wanted to jump right out the window with Keats, Simon and Kim and run away so that he would never have to know if Alex _- either _Alex - was alive or dead. Blissful ignorance. That's what he desired.

"_And… clear!"_

Not again. Surly he were running out of time. They were running out of hope. He began to swear internally . It was over. He was sure.

"_She's back!"_

Gene froze.

Alex was back.

One Alex was back. Which Alex? He held his breath. He could hardly stand to open his eyes. One way would bring him hope and a bright future. The other would take away his precious Bolly and leave him to argue with Simon about whether he was a nerd or not for the rest of eternity.

Slowly he opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked at the TV screen.

"_Thank you, everyone. We've got her back._"

"_Shit."_

Alex was back. DI Drake in 2010 was back.

He closed his eyes again. He knew that when he opened them and looked his Bolly would be gone. He wished he could avoid the torture, to stand there forever, not acknowledging that he had lost her and was alone, just as he had been for so very many years.

"_She's back!"_

He froze.

"You bollocksing what?"

As he finally opened his eyes he saw the doctors loading Alex onto a trolley in front of him and helping her to breathe.

"_Good work, everyone, lets get her prepped for surgery right away."_

Gene's mouth fell open like a shocked goldfish He stared as they quickly wheeled Alex from the room and some skinny little doctor gave him some half-arsed reassurances that she was in good hands. He looked back at the screen. The other Alex was alive; her heart was beating but her body was as still as it had been before her one-word revival.

"_Shit!"_

Gene didn't know what else to say. Both Alexes were still alive, but neither conscious and one - Bolly - _his_ Bolly - moments away from death.

He put his head in his hands and sank to the ground. Not for the first time that day he wished they'd just decided to stay in bad. _Bed_ was safe. No Keats, no bullets, no death.

Now he knew, for the first time, how Molly had been feeling for all that time. It wasn't pleasant. All he could do was to wait. Alex's life was hanging in the balance - and to a degree, so was his own.

_**~xxXxx~**_

_**Thank you for the birthday wishes! I had an awesome day dragging my family around Ashes to Ashes locations - I have now been to The Railway Arms, Fenchurch East and Luigi's - and I even did the white jacket and blue eyeliner! Best birthday EVER!**_


	65. Chapter 64: Rooftop Rendezvous

**Chapter Sixty Four**

Simon gulped as he made his way across the precariously fragile flat roof. This wasn't really his kind of thing. Trapping fraudsters, catching hackers, tracking down stolen technology- all fine. Walking along a flat roof three stories up, especially one that creaked and groaned harder than his stomach after spotting an Andrew Ridgeley autograph, was not part of the plan. It was not on his goal list from that morning. The only list, in fact, that walking across the roof would make it onto would be the _List Of Things That Simon Shoebury Really Really REALLY Didn't Want To Do._

_This is it,_ he thought to himself, _this is how it's going to end. I'm going to step on a weak spot, crash through the roof and wind up unconscious in a cupboard full of bedpans._

"_Sir! Wait!"_

He stopped and turned around to see a pale and bleeding Kim lumbering in his direction.

"Kim! What the hell are you doing?" he cried.

"You can't go alone."

"You're not up to this!" Simon studied her, "look at the state of you! Go back and get your shoulder checked."

"I'm fine."

"You're not!"

"Listen," Kim edged closer, much to Simon's horror, his bedpan-cupboard theory scaring him half to death, "maybe I can get through to him. There was a human side in there. We all saw it."

"All the more reason for you to go back," Simon insisted, "he's so conflicted about his feelings for you that he could go too far in the opposite direction and lash out at you. He paused, his eyes widening as she drew nearer. "And don't come any closer! I don't think the roof can take it!"

Kim frowned.

"Are you saying I'm fat?" she cried.

"What? _No!" _Simon shook his head, "OK, so maybe you're not… quite as svelte as you were on your video, but…"

"_What?"_

Simon wished he'd never opened his big mouth.

"I just don't think this roof was built for people!" he cried, "I don't want to plummet through before I get the chance to find Keats!" He covered his face. "And you can't stay out here in that hospital gown! You just gave me an eyeful!"

He turned his back to Kim and pressed on. He hated sounding so rude and knew Kim was just worried about the both of them but in her current condition - not to mention state of half-undress - she would only slow him down. He continued to edge along the roof until he came to a metal fire escape. At first he thought Keats had fled downwards and would be miles away but a metal clanking from above him drew his attention to a figure who was climbing up the last couple of rungs and disappearing onto the top level roof beyond.

Simon took a deep breath. Heights were not on his to-do list either but he knew he had little choice but to head upwards so cautiously he gripped the sides of the ladder and began to make his ascent.

Kim wasn't all that good at obeying orders. Sometimes she decided it was just better to ignore them completely. This was one of those times. Between her blood loss, shoulder wound and continued pain in her stomach her journey along the flat roof was slow but she made it to the base of the ladder in time to see Simon's feet disappearing onto the top level roof above her. She put her hands on the sides of the ladder and immediately drew one away again as the pain of her shoulder stung like a thousand bees at a Sting concert.

She took a deep breath, composed herself and prepared for a second attempt, this time a little slower and using just one arm to steady herself.

"This is going to be one long climb," she mumbled.

~xXx~

Panting with fear rather than exhaustion, Simon finally made it to the top of the fire escape and climbed onto the roof. He took a few moments on all-fours, just trying to gather himself at an altitude he wasn't used to and gave himself a lecture about not looking down. He closed his eyes just for a moment, bracing himself for whatever was ahead, then climbed to his feet.

Across the other side of the roof was a small building with a door, doubtlessly leading to steps that would lead down inside the hospital. _Clever boy, _Simon thought to himself. _Leave everyone to assume that you've gone down the fire escape instead of back into the hospital._

But for a clever boy there was one major flaw in his plan.

The door was locked.

Simon began to slowly encroach upon Keats as he stood, pulling and rattling the door and trying to get his way through that wooden obstacle through any means he could. He took a deep breath as he watched Keats becoming more manic. This was it. This was the moment the last five days had been building towards.

"So this is how it ends, is it?" he said, noting that Keats jumped a little as he spoke. He watched him turn around with the kind of genuine fear on his face that Simon had never seen before. "You and me, on a roof, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide?" He watched as Keats stood facing him, his expression unreadable but the motion of his throat as he swallowed betrayed his nerves. "Well you've done it now, haven't you? Looks like you've managed to even things up. Shot her in the head. Did you mean to do that or was it a stroke of luck? How did Bob Ross put it?" he paused for effect. "Oh yeah, '_we don't make mistakes, we just have happy accidents.". _He watched Keats carefully, trying to work out which part of him was listening, the man or the monster? Either way, he seemed to be keeping suspiciously quiet. "You know what really pisses me off? It's the fact that you keep trying to label me '_mini Hunt'_… keep making out I'm trying to become a clone of Gene… when _you're _the one trying to emulate him in every way possible." Simon swallowed. The silence was unnerving. "Well, you know what, Keats? It doesn't matter what you do. It doesn't matter if you go to the barber's with a photo of hum and ask for the Gene Hunt special. You can never match up to him. You'll never be his equal."

"On the contrary," Keats spoke up at last. His tone was calm and level, "I'm already his equal. I've got my own station. My own CID. The only reason I don't have a car that flashy is because I'm not trying to make up for lacking in the trouser department."

Simon shook his head.

"It doesn't matter what you do, you'll never be his equal because he's got something you'll never have." Simon paused to take in a deep breath and steel himself for the response. "He's got a heart."

"A _heart?"_ Keats spat, "where was this _heart_ when he was beating the shit out of that man? How many videos do I have to show you to make you see what he's really like?"

"Hunt's no angel," Simon began.

"Ha! Interesting choice of words!"

"He's made mistakes. But he's _learned_ from them. He's changed. And everyone who's passed through his world has helped him to grow. To learn. Alex, Malcolm, Susannah…"

"And you?" Keats raised an eyebrow, "what have _you _given Gene? A lesson in gay pride? The ability to embrace his inner-geek?"

Simon hesitated. He breathed in deeply as he thought about the day before, his conversation with Gene about Alex and embracing the time they had together instead of running scared. He nodded slowly.

"I think," he began quietly, "maybe I gave him the ability to _use_ his heart instead of ignoring it."

"Aw, how sweet," Keats wrinkled up his nose in disgust, "you gave the tin man a heart. You think a heart helps one ounce in this place? You need far more than that. That's why you need to cling onto Hunt's shirt-tails. You'd never make it on your own. You might have a heart but you don't have the _stomach_ for it." He paused and gave a mocking smile. "Especially after what you did to the toilet at Fenchurch West."

Simon scowled.

"Watch it," he snapped.

"Clogged the damn thing right up!"

"If you will leave your Wham memorabilia lying around then what do you expect?"

"It took three maintenance men to unclog it!" Keats hooted, "I always knew you were full of crap, but…"

Simon turned a furious shade of beetroot.

"Will everyone _please _stop talking about my bloody constipation?" he cried.

"Let's just hope you don't have a fear of heights," Keats commented, "don't want a repeat performance in your posh new trousers." He reached forward and poked Simon in the belly but before he could reach into his back-catalogue of toilet humour for more mocking comments involving Simon being bloated and sluggish he felt something unusual under Simon's shirt. He hesitated, pressing his finger in a little harder, then let his gaze rise to Simon's nervous expression. He saw him gulp anxiously. "What's this then?" Keats asked. He gasped Simon's shirt and pulled it up to see the hidden microphone and wire taped across his stomach and chest. "_Well well, _who's been clever boy then?"

Simon ripped his shirt from Keats's hand and pulled it back down again, taking a step back.

"Get your hands away from me," he spat.

Keats raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath.

"All starting to make more sense now," he said quietly, "I wondered how your _mummy and daddy_ got to the hospital so quickly. Shame they're not here to help you now though."

He took a lunge toward Simon but Simon had expected that and moved too quickly.

"Come on, Keats, we saw the man there a few minutes ago," he cried, "he can't have disappeared already! Where is he?"

"He's back in an alleyway in nineteen ninety three, laying on the ground in a pool of blood!" yelled Keats.

He took a swing at Simon and this time his fist struck Simon's face. The blow caused a scream from Simon as it reopened the cut beneath his eye and inflicted its own bruising at the same time. The power of the punch sent him reeling backward, almost to the ground. He just about stayed on his feet, terrified by the close proximity of the side of the roof and the pathetically low wall that wouldn't stop a fly from falling over the side. He may well have been allegedly 'indestructible' but he didn't like his chances with a fall from that kind of height. At the very least he could see a broken back in his future and that wasn't a very attractive proposition.

"Are you sure this is a place you actually want to have a fight?" he cried.

Keats's eyes flashed with anger.

"Looks like the _perfect_ place to me," he spat, drawing back then running toward Simon. He grabbed him by the shoulders but Simon's fear of going over the side gave him an extra burst of strength which helped him to turn Keats around and push him against the side of the doorway.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he cried, "why do you have it in for me? At first I thought it was as simple as being _the one that got away,_ like you told me when you targeted me in two thousand and ten, but I'm sure it's got to be more than that." Keats tried to struggle but Simon's hold was strong and firm. "There must been other souls you tried to get and couldn't take. I'm certain of that. So why are you so fixated on me?" The anger for all the things Keats had done to him began to rise inside of Simon giving him a rage and strength like he'd never known before. "What is it that really grates on you?" he pressed him harder against the door, "is it because I had people to go home to and you had no one waiting around your bedside? Is it because - despite the odds - I ended up actually getting on OK with Gene? Is it because you never did destroy my life in the way you planned?" he shook him by the shoulders, knocking his head against the door, ""Come on, tell me! You at least owe me that! Tell me!" He stared at Keats but no answer was forthcoming. _"Tell me!"_

Something in Simon's final, angry demand set forth Keats's own anger too. Finding almost inhuman strength he ripped himself for Simon's grasp, grabbed his arms and slammed him against the door instead.

"It's _because,"_ he screamed, "every time I look at you I see what _I_ could have become!" He saw confusion across Simon's face, mixed in with fear and dread. "I look at you and I see all the opportunities I never got to have. I look at you and I see a man who lived his life before losing it. I see a man who already had everything." His eyes scanned Simon up and down as he continued. "Look at you, Shoebury. You're thirty two and you achieved more in that time than most people do before they're sixty! You worked your way up through the ranks easily, got all the right breaks in life. You had a family you loved, you had a partner who loved you so much he dragged you here with him when he went into a coma! What did _I_ have, Simon?" He pressed him harder against the hard wooden door and watched his eyes open wider with fear. "I had a year on the beat. A sergeant who took the piss out of me every single day. I had only just started… just started my life… Then suddenly it was over."

"But you could have been someone here!" Simon gasped, "you… you must have been once! Look at your rank… you must have worked hard here."

"A poxy D and C representative," Keats spat, "the person they always shoved in the basement! Hated, detested…" he shook his head, "and then joy of joys, I get to go home! To wake up! And what do I find? I'm on a body that doesn't work. The only member of my family that I had left was dead. I was stuck behind a desk, signing papers and stamping the date on things. Never got any respect, never found friends, certainly never found love. Not like _you,_ DCI Shoebury. You had all of the above, didn't you?"

Simon could hardly breathe. He gasped for air.

"What do you want me to say?" he cried, "Sorry? Sorry your life didn't turn out the way you hoped? You're not the only one, Keats! No one's born with a perfect lot - we just have to make the best of what we have!"

"And _you _did, didn't you Shoebury?" Keats spat, his face edging closer to Simon's with every word, "You with your blow-dried hair and your immaculate suit, your dry sense of humour, your big blue eyes. You and your brains and your guts and your schoolboy charm. Why the hell do you have to be so… _fucking…_" he grasped Simon and spun him around, throwing him with all the force his body could allow, _"PERFECT?"_

As Keats thrust Simon across the roof he practically flew through the air for a moment before crashing to the floor, where he rolled over and over. despite his attempts to stop, as he hit the small ridge at the end of the roof he flipped right over and barely managed to grasp the wall with one hand to stop himself plummeting down several stories to the car park below.

There was silence for a moment Everything stopped. Keats stood hunched over, panting, desperately trying to get some oxygen back into his body to replace that which his muscles had taken in the almighty force of his tussle. It took him a few moments to realise what had happened. For a split second he couldn't place where Simon had gone. Then he saw the fingers gripping the wall at the end of the roof and heard the faint desperate panting of a man who was pleading for help.

Slowly Keats stepped forward, one very deliberate footstep after another. He couldn't place what he was feeling.

_Feeling._

That wasn't something he was used to in the first place.

He reached the end of the roof and peered over the tiny wall. Gripping it with one hand, Simon's terrified face stared back at him. Eyes wide, skin pale, brow furrowed so deeply that the wrinkles would likely never fade. His lips twitched but it took him several moments to form the words as, near-paralysed with fear, he whispered,

"_Help? Help me?"_

Keats hesitated. He stood, staring at the terrified face below him. One part of him glowered, lapped up the moment, the promise of the fall and the Simon-shaped pizza that would follow. He began to raise his foot, bringing it incrementally closer to the white, shaking knuckles that were at his mercy. He savoured the moment. Gloated. Smiled at Simon's helpless little face. Just moments from now he would be able to inflict upon him a pain so incredible that even someone of Simon's standing in this world would most likely succumb to the attractive proposition of eternal darkness. And if, by chance, he did then Keats knew who would be there to take his soul.

One finger slipped off. Two.

"_Please!"_

Simon was two fingers and a thumb away from falling. Keats could almost taste the delicious agony. He could almost hear the terrified screams. He could wait. That moment would be glorious.

"_PLEASE!"_

He looked down at Simon's face again. The excitement was still there, but something stirred inside of him. He couldn't explain iy. There was a feeling… it was a very well hidden feeling, but was there none the less and starting to grow. Some kind of sensation stirring inside him. He'd felt before but very rarely. What was it again? He tried hard to place it. Finally he realised. It was humanity.

He swallowed. He wasn't used to this. He tried to fight the sensations stirring inside of him as Simon's terrified face filled his mind. He hated it. This wasn't him. This was some alien part of him he didn't want to acknowledge.

Another finger sliding. One more desperate cry.

An instant. A notion. One switch flipping inside is head.

Unable to fight the emotions that were stirring within him he made a split second decision, bent down, reached forward and grabbed Simon's wrist a moment before the last of his fingers slipped from the wall.

He gave a cry as the strain of trying to hold Simon's weight without losing his footing told through his arm and his body. He tried to pull him upwards but couldn't the right angle so he slowly stretched his other hand out to Simon.

"_Grab my hand" _he cried.

For a moment Simon was too shocked to react. Then he hesitated a second longer expecting a trick. But he wasn't in the best position to cast doubt on Keats's intentions so with shaking arm he reached up but Keats's own hand was out of reach.

"Can't!" he cried.

"Yes you can," Keats said through gritted teeth. He tried to reach out a little further but feared falling over the edge himself. Eventually he tried a different tactic and used his spare hand to grip the same wrist that his occupied hand was holding, a little further up Simon's arm, and began to slowly pull him upward.

The strain was so great that he could barely move him at first. He pulled with all of his might but Simon's body was too heavy for him to move. With a deep breath he found a burst of extra strength and energy and gradually found progress in his quest to haul him upward.

Slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, one hand over the other until he had hold enough of Simon to drag him upwards and over, his front scraping and scrazing as it rubbed hard against the rough concrete wall. With one last pull and a cry of strain he forced Simon back over the wall and onto the roof, where he was safe and stable at last.

Both men fell to the ground, shaken and stunned by what had just occurred. Simon panted hard, the pain from his brush with the concrete hardly registering compared to the far, far worse pain he had feared he'd be experiencing just seconds earlier. He couldn't get his breath for quite some time, His heart and lungs couldn't cope with the demand as every limb, every muscle, every bone seemed to tremble with the shock of what he'd just been through.

Keats stared at Simon. He didn't know what shocked him more; his actions a moment earlier, or the way he felt now. He breathed deeply, hoping that his heart rate would slow down but it just seemed to beat ever faster. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain any of it. He couldn't understand what he was feeling. He reached up and placed his palm over his own chest, feeling the sensation of his heart beating against it. He closed his eyes just for a moment, concentrating on the rhythm below his fingers. He'd never felt his heart beating so hard before. He'd never felt so alive.

He looked at Simon who was staring back at him, a look of confusion and intensity on his face. There were a hundred things that Simon wanted to say, to ask, to know but he couldn't put them into words. And even if he could, his mouth wasn't co-operating. He stared at Keats, the man who'd tried to endanger his life so many times. Suddenly the reverse was true. He swallowed and became acutely aware of how dry his mouth was. His tongue ran around his lips before he could stop it.

Keats's stare fell to Simon's chest where small red patches were starting to appear through his shirt. Slowly he reached out and gently lifted the material. Beneath it Simon's chest and stomach were covered in scratches and gashes from the roughness of the concrete he'd been pulled against. Keats looked back at Simon's face for a second. He seemed confused and unsure what was happening.

With a shaking hand he reached forward and slowly touched one of the bleeding wounds. He felt Simon flinch from the pain but noted that he didn't pull away or bark at him to stop as he usually did when Keats laid so much as a fingertip anywhere on his body. And who could blame him, after what he'd done.

_Oh god._

The guilt that suddenly flooded Keats's senses was overwhelming. He looked Simon in the eyes, his expression faltering. He could feel his jaw starting to tremble just a little. It was the same overwhelming guilt he felt as he discovered the truth about Kim and the baby . A terrible gnawing of anguish began to eat him up inside. He could still see Simon laying there in bed, unconscious, as he set up the room perfectly around him for the ultimate step in his plan to destroy his life.

His gaze dropped back to Simon's bloodied chest and slowly pressed his fingers over his heart. He could feel it beating as strongly as he'd felt his own. It made his head spin a little. He couldn't explain them, the feelings and sensations overtaking him, but they were growing stronger. He had fought back humanity for so long that now he had started to experience these little breakthroughs, these little bursts of emotion and feeling, he didn't know how to cap them or how to control them and they were just so bloody hard to deal with. He looked back at Simon's face and saw the bruise that his punch had caused starting to form on his face. In the centre of it, where the cut below his eye had opened again, one trail of blood had started to form.

_That was me. Oh god, what have I done?_

Keats withdrew his hand from Simon's rapidly beating heart, letting his shirt fall back own over his grazed body and licked his thumb before reaching out to wipe away the blood trickling slowly down his cheek. Just a couple of hours earlier the same action had been repelled with an angry shout and a quick step back but this time Simon didn't move, save for flinching a little as his digit made contact with his tender cheek.

_Why Isn__'t he pushing me away this time?_

He wiped away the blood and withdrew his hand. Staring at the red liquid on the end of his thumb brought home to him so many things; the reality of the consequences of his violence, the fact that Simon was made of flesh and blood, the discovery that he could experience regret and guilt. There were other things too. Things he didn't like. He swallowed and tried to speak. To say something, anything, just to break the silence. He couldn't move his stare away from Simon's injured face or the intensity in his eyes.

More blood began to seep from Simon's cut so Keats reached out again to wipe it away. This time Simon didn't flinch; he seemed frozen almost, waiting, the anticipation of trying to work out what was happening almost killing him inside. As his finger touched Simon's skin a strange wave of energy ran through Keats's body and before he could stop himself he'd whispered an echo of the last word he'd uttered to Simon in anger before throwing him with the force of a hundred men. This time the word was not said in anger, it was said with a very different emotion.

In the first heartbeat afterwards, Keats and Simon's gaze locked together, both as shocked by his utterance as each other.

In the next heartbeat, a shock of bleach-blonde hair appeared over the ladder leading up to the roof as Kim finally made her slow ascent to the top of the fire escape.

Keats spun around as though startled out of a daydream, the sight of Kim's face filling him with countless layers of guilt and anguish. He drew his hand back in an instant and glanced from Simon to Kim and back again, lost and confused. Something rose inside of him although he couldn't quite place it. An emotion, a feeling, a loss of control.

"Oh God," he whispered, "_Kim." _He wasn't sure who was more surprised to hear him use 'Kim' as her name; him or her. He looked at Simon who looked shaken and dazed, then back at Kim who was looking worried and nervous. He started to shake and tremble uncontrollably, at the mercy of emotions that he just wasn't equipped to handle and scrambled to his feet. "God, I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry…"

He began to back away, the edge of the roof looming ever closer.

"Wait!" Simon cried.

Keats had no intention of waiting. He couldn't handle it. He didn't know what to do, how to cope, how to survive another moment with emotions so vibrant and dangerous. He turned around and began to run now, aware that Simon was getting to his feet behind him. He didn't look back, didn't dare. He reached the end of the roof and stepped onto the low wall, then as though diving for Olympic gold from the highest diving board he bent his knees just a fraction and took a leap of faith.

"_No!"_ Simon screamed; his cry echoed by Kim as she made it onto the roof at last. Together they ran to the side of the building and peered over, Simon's vertigo hardly helping matters. They looked down, they looked left, they looked right. They expected to find a man in pieces on the ground but there was no sign of him. No sign of anyone.

"_What?" _cried Kim.

"But… but he just jumped!" Simon cried, "he _just jumped!" _he peered down again as long as he dared. "I'm not even sure he would have stopped falling by the time we got here!"

"He c an't have just vanished!" cried Kim.

Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He remembered a pair of handcuffs hanging loosely from the banister in Fenchurch West the day before.

"He can," he whispered, "he _has."_

Silence fell for a few moments as neither of then knew quite what to say. Simon tried to quell the angry beating of his heart as he thought about the exchange he'd just experienced. He felt Kim's eyes on him and looked at her again.

"What the hell was going in up here?" she asked, "I climbed up four flights - _four fucking flights _of rickety stairs one handed! In a _hospital smock! _Hundreds of paramedics have probably seen my arse now! I was fearing the worst - I thought you'd be tearing each other to shreds, then I finally make it up and find you having a staring contest!" she shook her head slowly. "what the hell happened?"

Simon bit his lip nervously. He peered over the side one last time, then back at Kim. He took a very deep, slow breath in. He could still feel Keats's finger on the side of his face. It sent a strange shudder through him

"I wish I knew," he whispered.

"What did he do to you?" Kim asked, "your face…"

Simon took a step away from her, unable to work out what had just occurred. He swallowed.

"Uh… something _happened," _he whispered vaguely. He looked all around but couldn't think of anything else to say. Eventually he cleared his throat. "We'd… we'd better get down there. Look for him. He can't have… well, he _has_ vanished but he's still got to be somewhere…"

Kim looked at him anxiously. There was something different about him. Something in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly, "I mean… are you _really_ alright?"

Simon stared into the distance. He wasn't quite sure.

"I'll be fine," he said quietly. The cuts on his abdomen and ribs began to really sting and he flinched.

"You're bleeding all over!" Kim cried.

"What I wouldn't give for Susannah and her first aid kit now," Simon said quietly. He put his hands in his pockets. He was beginning to feel very cold suddenly. Funny how the chill November air hadn't affected him while Keats was there. He turned to Kim. "We'd better get off this roof."

"Oh great," Kim sighed, "all the way back down, one handed."

Simon shook his head.

"There are stairs inside that building, he said, "I'll go and unlock the door from the inside."

Kim sighed.

"So glad I followed you now," she mumbled.

"I told you to go back!" Simon protested.

"You'll learn I don't do what I'm told," Kim informed him.

As Simon began his descent down the rickety ladder again he still couldn't stop his heart from thumping away. The exchange on the roof had shocked him. It had given him a jolt he couldn't shake from his mind. He cursed himself for almost forgetting about Alex, about Gene relying on him to bring Keats to task for what he'd done. He couldn't make any sense out of the last few minutes, or the last few days, in fact. But he had a feeling that was something he was going to have to get used to if he wanted to survive in this world.

"_My name is Simon Shoebury," _he mumbled to himself as he carefully took one rung after another, _"I was in a car crash and woke up in nineteen ninety five. Now my life has turned to total and utter crud and the last thing that made sense was opening a packet of Weetabix this morning." _

He reached the flat roof and slowly made his way back to the open window of Kim's hospital room. The room was now empty, save for a pool of blood on the floor and a portable resuscitation machine. Near the door, the television set was still on but only static was showing. There was a whirring as Keats's tape had reached the end and started to rewind. No sooner had Simon reached the TV than the tape came out. He hesitated beside it, then took the tape and slipped it into his pocket once again. He closed his eyes just for a moment. What had that tape unleashed? Whatever it was, Simon very nearly had a taste of it.

With a shudder he rushed from the room on a quest to find a certain staircase an rescue Kim from the cold air. He tried to push all memory of the rooftop exchange out of his mind.

But the memory of those fingers on his face remained.


	66. Chapter 65: Splitting the Alex

**Chapter Sixty Five**

Gene looked like an extra from Casualty. If he were in an episode he'd be down as _Anxious Relative In Hallway._ He sat in the corridor, knees wide apart, hands clasped together and head bowed. With every set of footsteps that passed by he looked up urgently but usually received a sympathetic smile and a '_No news yet'_ from whichever doctor or nurse was busy marching down the corridor.

He stared at the floor between his feet and reached for his flask. There wasn't much left now, about a third of it. He wished there was somewhere nearby to get a proper drink but didn't think the sale of alcohol would go down particularly well in one of the NHS's finest.

So where did that leave him as a distraction? He didn't smoke any more. Maybe take up something illegal? Nailer had some pretty fancy wares. No, drugs were never the answer. Not unless he was trying to fill in CID's annual crossword puzzle anyway. How about knitting? Biting his finger nails? What about trying to play a one-person game of cat's cradle involving his feet?

He was so busy trying to think of a distraction that he almost didn't notice a slightly tattered and blood-stained body sinking into the chair beside him.

"How is she?"

It was Simon's voice. Gene slowly exhaled.

"_No news yet,_" he echoed the words of the doctors.

Simon bowed his own head.

"Sorry, Guv."

Gene gave a heavy sigh that came from deep within him.

"Did you get him?"

Simon's heart sank. He and Kim had been on the greatest of all wild goose chases for the last hour. They had circled the hospital numerous times but there was no sign of Keats ever having taken a flying leap from the roof. Even examining CCTV footage of the car park gave no further information except to prove that he never hit the ground. The drop was sheer, there was no flat roof, no balcony, nothing jutting out for him to grip onto. There should have been a Keats jigsaw puzzle on the ground by now but there was no sign of a single body part.

"He's vanished, Gene," he said quietly, "I don't mean we lost him, I mean… he _vanished." _He paused as the memories of their rooftop encounter washed over him, sending a shiver down his spine. "I chased him up to the roof. There was a fight, and.." he trailed off and flinched, "and then he couldn't cope with feeling… human emotions. Took a flying leap over the side. Kim and I looked over but he was nowhere to be seen. He disappeared into thin air. Literally."

Gene was about to say that wasn't possible but, like Simon an hour earlier, he remembered how Keats had vanished from the handcuffs and realised it probably was.

"Bloody escape artist," he said

"We'll find him, Gene."

Gene shook his head.

"Not yet. He'll go to ground. Lick his wounds. He'll be back when he's ready but until then…" he sighed. For the first time he glanced up and saw the state of Simon. He almost choked. His eye was shining with an almighty bruise and his shirt was soaked with blood. "What the hell happened to _you?" _he cried, "did _he _do this?"

"No… _yes_… kind of…" Simon wasn't sure himself, "the punch was his."

"What happened to yer chest?"

Simon looked down.

"He saved my life," he said quietly.

This time Gene _did _choke. It took him several moments to gain his composure.

"I think I've got cheese in me ears," he said.

"He threw me across the floor and I went over the side of the roof," Simon said quietly, "he pulled me back up. The concrete on the side of the roof was really rough. Cut me to pieces."

"You had looked at?" asked Gene.

Simon shook his head.

"It's fine," he lied, the pain from his wounds taking his mind away from bigger matters.

He found Gene's flask wafting under his nose.

"For the pain," he said.

Simon shook his head but then took the flask anyway. He sniffed the liquid and made a face.

"I'm fine," he said again.

Gene sighed and stared at the doors of the operating theatre. He licked his lips.

"You've got a lot to thank her for," he told Simon.

Simon frowned.

"Who?"

"Alex."

Simon wasn't sure what Gene was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"She did you a big favour," Gene's voice broke a little as he spoke, "told your friend Batman not to cark it."

Simon felt like the world stopped turning. For a moment, the word froze and everything seemed to disappear.

"What?" he breathed.

"I saw it happen. On the screen." Gene snatched the flask back from Simon since he wasn't drinking any and took a long swig. He took a moment to get his breath back before he explained further. "The telly stayed on after you went. A load of bloody doctors came in and took Bolly, started giving 'er the kiss of life and getting 'er engine going again. On the screen…" he closed his eyes for a moment, "the _other _Alex… she woke up."

Simon gave an audible gasp.

"She's back in two thousand and ten?"

"_Was," _Gene corrected, "for a moment." It made him hurt to even think about those awful few minutes. "Eyes opened, grabbed 'is wrist, told 'im to live." he brought the flask back up to his lips. "then her heart stopped." He shook his head slowly. "It was like watching a repeat. Same doctors an' all. Just a bit greyer." he sighed. "Got her heart started again. But she's still in a coma."

Simon's mouth fell open.

"And Alex…" he began, "_your_ Alex… did she disappear?"

Gene shook his head slowly.

"Nope." He stared at the flask. "That's what I don't understand."

Simon bit his lip.

"Shit." The magnitude of Alex's gesture to Robin struck him. _"Shit."_ He felt so guilty suddenly, so incredibly guilty that he almost couldn't bear it. He reached out as though he was on autopilot and took the flask from Gene, sipped the foul liquid without permission and spluttered a little. He looked at Gene who was staring at him in silence. "Uhh…" he felt his pulse starting to rise, "Gene, I…. I think I almost did something terrible."

Gene raised an eyebrow.

"_Almost _did something or _actually_ did something?"

"Almost did."

Gene took back his flask and drank the rest of the scotch.

"_Almost _is fine," he said, "it's easy to backtrack from 'almost'. 'Actually' is harder to clear up."

Simon looked at him.

"You think?" he asked. _'Almost' _was already half-killing him inside.

"I've got plenty of 'almost's," Gene told him, "quite a few 'actually's as well. Trust me, life's too short to dwell on the Almosts." At that moment the doors of the operating theatre opened and a trolley began to come towards them. The face laying upon it was awfully familiar. Gene scrambled to his feet. _"How is she?"_

One of the surgeons approached him.

"You are?"

"Uh, _friend," _Gene could break old habits.

"They're engaged," Simon corrected.

Gene couldn't get used to saying that. It still made him feel a little awkward and embarrassed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "what he said."

"Does she have any next of kin?" the surgeon asked.

Gene hesitated.

"I think… _I'm_ the closest thing she has to next of kin," he said.

"Right," the surgeon began as the trolley disappeared around the corner, "we were able to remove the bullet fairly easily. We won't know for a while how much damage has been done. We're taking her through to recovery now."

"You gonna let me see her or do I have to jam things in unpleasant places to make you let me?"

That was Gene's version of asking 'Can I see her?' It seemed a little more effective than its usual alternative. The surgeon gulped nervously. He didn't wish for his colleagues to have to perform the resulting surgery to remove said objects jammed in unpleasant places.

"When her vital signs have been checked you'll be allowed to see her," he said.

Gene watched him leave in something of a hurry, then glanced at Simon.

"He took less convincing than I was expecting," he said. He sat back down, scratching his head slowly. "I think I finally understand."

"Understand what?" Simon asked.

"What her daughter's been going through for the last two years," Gene said quietly, "and all the families of all the people just visiting here."

Simon looked down.

"It's not your fault, Gene," he said quietly, "it's not like you bring them here on purpose. You give them a place to go when they need you. Without it they'd just be laying in darkness until they open their eyes."

Gene nodded very slowly. He understood that. What he couldn't guarantee for certain was that, right then, Alex might not be elsewhere in yet another coma. She seemed prone to them. For most people, it was the common cold. For Alex, she seemed to have a coma every year. OK, maybe not every year but still more than the average person would have in a lifetime.

"Speaking of people visiting," he said quietly, "where's Metal Mickey?"

"Kim?" Simon sighed, "I finally convinced her to get her shoulder looked at. They're patching her up now." He got to his feet. "I'd better check on her." He looked at Gene and felt terrible for leaving him alone but Kim didn't have anyone either. He'd just have to timeshare. Besides, anything was better than going back to work and facing the wrath of a confused, abandoned Vickery. "Alex is going to be OK, you know."

Gene gave a snort.

"Yeah. Right."

"I mean it," Simon insisted, "she'll make it. If she's survived this far, she's fighting hard."

"And she'll spend two years in a bloody coma," Gene mumbled.

Simon sighed gently. He wished he could reassure Gene but knew, when it came down to it, there were no guarantees in this situation. He breathed deeply.

"I'll be back," he said quietly, "stay strong." He cringed at how corny his words sounded and decided to excuse himself before he could manage to become any cheesier.

~xXx~

Kim sat on the edge of the bed, waiting yet again to be discharged.

"Haven't I been here before?" she mumbled.

Someone had kindly donated some clean clothes to her from last month's unclaimed lost property. The bright pink leggings and Oasis t-shirt weren't really 'her' but were better than wearing the blood-soaked clothes she'd been admitted in. Her shoulder had been cleaned and dressed. It only needed one little stitch. She thought the amount of bleeding it caused was ridiculous for all she had to show for it. Barely needed a band aid, she thought.

She glanced up as Simon came in.

"State of my body," she said, "look at it."

"Shoulder will heal," said Simon, sinking down next to her.

"I didn't mean that," Kim said sadly. She gave a deep sigh. "Look at me, Look what I've done to myself since I got here. You were right outside. I've put on a ton of weight since I got here

"That wasn't all your fault," Simon reminded her.

"A lot of it was," said Kim, "god knows how much beer I've consumed since I got here. Eaten nothing but junk. Started smoking." she hung her head. "I didn't think it mattered. I thought all this was in my head. I had the chance to do all the stuff I didn't dare in real life." she sighed. "I've paid the price for it."

Simon rubbed his temples. The day was starting to tell on him. He had one super migraine starting.

"How's your shoulder feeling?" he asked.

"Better," said Kim, "they gave me some nice blue and white pills."

Simon smiled.

"Yeah, I liked those when I broke my toes," he gave a gentle laugh.

Kim stared at the floor. Something was bothering her.

"Sir, I'm scared," she said quietly.

"Scared?" Simon repeated "what of?"

Kim breathed deeply.

"I'm scared he's going to come looking for me," she said quietly, "until somehow he separates those two sides, one of them terrifies the shit out of me."

"What about the other?"

Kim shook her head slowly.

"The other side I just want to give a big hug and tell it everything's going to be alright." She glanced at Simon. "Was he really in love with me?"

Simon hesitated, then slowly nodded.

"I think so," he said quietly, "but I don't think he knew it. I don't think he knew how to identify or handle the emotions he's been feeling. They've been getting to him. He's not used to them so he doesn't know how to cope. Now they're starting to creep out, he's getting an overdose of them. He's acting in ways he wouldn't usually do."

Kim felt awkward and nervous. The idea of Keats falling for her on whatever level chilled her.

"I'm scared to go home," she confided.

Simon hesitated. He glanced at her.

"I've got a proposition for you," he began.

"It doesn't involve gas and air, does it?" Kim asked warily.

"No, it doesn't."

"Well let's hear it then."

Simon took a deep breath.

"I'm not really used to living on my own now," he said, "after my accident I moved in with Robin while I got stronger and I just… stayed. Ended up selling my flat. We were looking for somewhere bigger. Somewhere that would fit all out DVDs and our collection of X-Files memorabilia."

Kim gave a little smile.

"You geek," she commented.

"The point is," Simon continued, "I don't like being on my own right now. My flat's not that big and I've only got a couch but if you want somewhere to stay for a few days or a couple of weeks until you feel safer, it's yours."

Kim looked at him in surprise.

"Are you joking, sir?" she asked.

"No," said Simon, "but there is one condition. You strop calling me 'sir'. It's Simon. Deal?"

Kim hesitated for just a moment, then gave him a surprised but grateful smile.

"Deal," she agreed.

"One other thing," said Simon, "no smoking in my flat either."

Kim looked away sadly.

"I won't be doing that any more," she said quietly, "I think I need to take this life more seriously." Her anxiety came back as she thought about Keats again. "I thought nothing I did here mattered. I thought it didn't count. I thought it was all in my head. What you said about Keats… about him following you back to your own time… is it true?"

Simon wished he could deny it.

"Yes," he whispered.

Kim hung her head.

"Then," she whispered, "it's all over for me when I go back. He'll find me. He'll track me down. He'll make my life a misery."

"No, no, he won't," Simon began sternly, "listen - I've been thinking about this and I've got a plan. I think I know how you can avoid him ever tracking you down."

"This is Keats we're talking about here," Kim reminded him.

"Yes, but things are different for you," said Simon, "you're going back to a time when Keats is back in the present after his _first_ trip to Gene's world. He didn't meet you until after he died in two thousand and ten. He won't be able to come after you in the same way that he came after me because he won't know who you are. But even so, your life could still be in danger because of the job he takes on. He has access to the mental health records of every member of the police force and scours them for any trace of coma. So here's what you do." He took a deep breath. "When you wake up, you quit the force. You never go back. It's not safe enough. Take any other job, start any other career. Just tell your friends and family that your brush with death has taught you to follow your dreams in life and do something else you always wanted to do. Never seek any kind of therapy or counselling. _Ever. _Change your name, just to be safe. Then go and live your life. Go back to your family, to your girlfriend, to two thousand and three. Start again and forget all about this place. Forget about Keats. In two thousand and ten you'll hear of the death of someone you knew in this place and you'll attend their memorial. You'll sit next to a depressed-looking geek in a smart shirt," he noticed her giving him a little smile. "but until that day you carry on as normal. And he will never get to you."

Kim looked at him with intense gratitude in her eyes. She couldn't believe what he had said. The logic, the planning, the depth of his scheme. She nodded slowly.

"I can do that," she whispered, "thank you." She closed her eyes just for a moment. "thank you _so_ much. I can't… can't believe you had this all worked out. You barely even know me."

"There's no humanity in Keats-Two-thousand-and-ten," said Simon, "I'm not letting that Keats get to you."

Kim felt a wave of relief washing over her inside. She couldn't' explain it. Simon's plan had caught her unawares. It seemed so perfect. Infallible. She looked at him gratefully.

"I don't know what to say" she whispered, "I wish… I wish I could do something for you in return."

Simon hesitated.

"There is… _one_ thing," he said quietly.

Kim looked at him expectantly.

"Name it."

Simon bit his lip.

"How good is your memory?"

~xXx~

The doctor looked at his notes.

"You're the next of kin?"

Evan nodded.

"Yes," he said, "well… as close as she's got."

The doctor nodded.

"We've taken some brain scans," he said, "the good news is that neural activity is looking promising."

Evan frowned.

"Could you put that into layman's terms please?"

"I'm saying," the doctor told him seriously that the signs are promising for Alex to regain consciousness within the next few days."

Evan's mouth fell open, stunned.

"B-but I don't understand," he began, "the last attempt at bringing her out resulted in her heart stopping."

"We likely jumped the gun.," the doctor explained, "she wasn't ready then. She's showing us herself that she's ready now."

Evan thought in silence for a moment.

"What will her condition likely to be when she comes around?" he asked,.

"There's no way of knowing until she wakes up," the doctor explained, "she's been in a prolonged coma. Rehabilitation could take many months or years. There is no way to assess the full damage until she open her eyes and rejoins the land of the living."

Evan hesitated.

"Her heart stopped today," he began, "just like when you tried to bring her round before. How do we know this won't happen again?"

"We'll be monitoring her closely," the doctor assured him, "and if this happens, the crash team will be on standby. We may need to assess the situation to see if there is an underlying cardiac problem that needs addressing, but all in good time."

Evan nodded slowly. He wished he could be more enthusiastic but after the last attempt to bring her round he couldn't get his hopes up. He hoped Alex was strong enough to make it.

"Thank you, doctor," he said.

"She's a fighter" the doctor assured him, "she'll be back where she belongs soon."

Evan could only pray he was right.

~xXx~

The doctor looked at his notes.

"You're the next of kin?"

Gene nodded.

"Yes," he said, "well… as close as she's got."

The doctor nodded.

"We've taken some brain scans," he said, "the good news is that neural activity is looking promising."

Gene frowned.

"Say that again in a language that won't lead me to insert my fist one and a half foot down your gob."

"I'm saying," the doctor told him seriously, "that the signs are promising for Alex to regain consciousness within the next few days."

Gene's mouth fell open, stunned. Looking at the evidence from the other side of the line he expected her to lay in a hospital bed for some months or years.

"I hope this isn't an out of date April fool," he said.

"We took some brain scans after the surgery" the doctor explained, "Her brain function is looking stronger than we would have expected at this stage. She's showing us she's willing to wake up."

Gene thought in silence for a moment.

"What's she gonna be like when she comes round?" he asked, "is she going to know who I am or sit dribbling in the corner?"

"There's no way of knowing until she wakes up," the doctor explained, "she's suffered a gunshot wound to the head. Rehabilitation could take weeks or months, or she may surprise us all. There is no way to assess the full damage until she open her eyes and rejoins the land of the living."

Gene hesitated.

"She needed resuscitation when she was shot," he began, "if that happens again, can you get that busty blonde nurse to do the kiss 'o life on 'er?"

"We'll do what we can," the doctor assured him, "but if all goes well she won't be needing resuscitation, busty nurse or otherwise. We are confident she will be ready to come round within a few days."

Gene nodded slowly. He wished he could be more enthusiastic but knowing how long she had been in a coma back in her own time he couldn't get his hopes up. He hoped Alex was strong enough to make it.

"Cheers, doc," he said.

"She's a fighter" the doctor assured him, "she'll be back where she belongs soon."

Gene could only pray he was right.

~xXx~

Alex was here, there, everywhere and nowhere.

Neither one place nor another, not one thing or another.

Two bodies, two realities' apart. Both in a precarious position, both desperately in need of her soul to bring them back to life.

This was crunch time. Decision junction. The final countdown.

There was a decision to be made - and it was up to her.

That killed her inside. She had hoped for a long time that the decision would be out of her hands, that she would suddenly awaken or that her body would fade and die. She didn't want to be responsible for making that choice. It _wasn't_ a decision she could ever make.

As a mother, Molly always took priority, even over Gene. But as someone who'd spent 15 years away from her home and daughter, fifteen years with a man she loved and a life she valued, that judgement was skewed.

How could she ever choose between the two? She recalled how incredibly pulled she felt from both sides when she had awoken briefly the day before. The awful pain of losing one or the other forever hurt so much she felt like she could rip clean in half.

_Molly, Gene, Molly, Gene__… _the confusion carried on. Voices screaming at each other, the same two voices that had been fighting for years.

The pain was too great. Too great to live with either way. She couldn't bare the thought of losing Molly _or_ Gene. The act of choosing one over the other was so great, so hard, so damn impossible that she wondered if it was the act of trying to choose that stopped her heart.

If she could only go back to Molly with no memory of Gene or the past… or if she could only stay with Gene without knowing she ever had a daughter to leave behind…

The thought swirled around and around and around until the reached fever pitch and, with an ethereal scream, Alex's soul reached a crescendo of pain so great that it couldn't cope and shattered into many millions of floating thoughts and fragments of emotions.

That was it. That was the answer.

As the essence of Alex swirled and reformed, made its thought and memories complete again, it parted right down the middle. One soul became two, the cut cleaner than the swing of a butcher's knife.

One, the half of her who embraced motherhood, would lay down her life for Molly, would return to her side in a heartbeat. The half who loved her modern life in the 21st century, who had fallen as a bullet from Layton buried itself in her skull, who had lain in a coma for 2 years.

The other, the half who'd found her soul mate, who woke up every morning with the man that completed her, who would sacrifice anything for him and - _regularly_ - had already done so. The half who embraced her time in the past and the journey through a second decade with Gene and those who passed through; who helped wandering souls to find their way and who had received a bullet in her brain just a few hours before.

Alex in Gene's world was every bit as real as Alex in 2010.

Both an Alex in her own right.

Both had earned the right to survive.

As one soul split in two both sides got their wish.

Now it was up to their bodies to find the strength to make it


	67. Chapter 66: Paper Planes and Promises

**Chapter Sixty Six**

Simon let his breath out slowly as he walked into Fenchurch East. It had been a very, _very_ long day. He wasn't even sure why he was there. He just needed some familiarity.

He had driven Kim back to his flat and set her up on the couch with some painkillers and his Red Dwarf video collection despite her protests that she had a phobia of model space ships. He'd sat beside her for some time to explain to her a favour that he had to ask of her. She'd listened. She'd understood. She'd agreed. They'd both ended up shedding tears. He made some notes and lists and left them with her to read as often as she was able to and to memorise the best that she could. They'd hugged like old friends who'd known each other for years instead of colleagues who'd only met days before and then said goodbye as Simon set off to the station, each knowing now the unique part they had to play in each other's destiny.

He spent the whole drive fighting tears. The day had thrown up many questions, worries and traumas. Thoughts of Robin, Alex's plea to him and his time on the roof with Keats dominated his mind. He started to understand now what Kim was talking about, the strange hypnotic hold he could switch on and off at will. It made him shudder to the bone.

Walking into the station he wasn't sure what he expected to find, but it certainly was not Gene sitting in CID at Kim's desk, aiming paper aeroplanes at various new members of the department.

"_Gene?" _he cried, "what the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you with Alex?"

Gene looked a little ashamed.

"Doctor threw me out," he mumbled, "for threatening to thread his stethoscope through his intestines."

"What the hell did you do that for?" cried Simon.

"Might have been something to do with him taking me flask away," Gene flushed.

Simon sat down on Kim's desk and sighed.

"How is she?" he asked.

Gene took a deep breath. He was scared to repeat what he'd been told in case it cursed her safety.

"They think she might be alright," he said quietly, "Looking hopeful, they said. Just got to wait and see now. I'm not good at waiting." He paused. "Where's Metal Mickey?" he frowned. "I'll have to come up with another name for 'er if she doesn't put those things back in 'er face."

"I took her to my flat," Simon told him, "she's going to stay with me for a few days. A couple of weeks, maybe. Until she feels safe again. She's worried about Keats turning up on her doorstep."

Gene lifted a bottle of scotch that had been hidden just out of view, removed the cap and took a swig.

"I'd remove the welcome mat from the doorstep if I saw him coming too," he said.

Simon rubbed his head.

"I still don't understand how he disappeared," he whispered. He looked at Gene. "What will happen to Fenchurch West if he's vanished? Will it disappear too, or…?"

"One step ahead of you, my friend," Gene said quietly, "I already checked that out. CID has been given over to the temporary command of a DI Stone. Jimbo's taking a month off," he almost choked on the words, _"Compassionate leave."_

"What?"

Gene swigged from the bottle.

"To get over the loss of his unborn baby," he spat.

"_Shit," _Simon breathed, "You are shitting me, right?"

"Nope," Gene shook his head.

"_Shit."_

"Bloody hell, Shoebury, that really _is_ your favourite word, isn't it?"

Simon sighed. He knew he used the 'S' word a little too often.

"Yeah," he admitted, "it probably is. And no, before you say it, nothing to do with my constipation, thank you very much."

Gene folded another classified document into a plane and launched it.

"He'll be back," he said quietly, "he _always _comes back. However long… he never stays away for good. He'll appear again. And next time he won't be getting away with anything."

"Surely with all the witnesses we can get something to stick for Alex's shooting," said Simon.

Gene lifted the bottle and drank from it again.

"And then what?" he said, "Prison? Disappearing through the bars?" he stared at the wall. "No. Got to be something more than that. We need to destroy him for good." he straightened his lips into a firm line. "I just hope Drake will be with us when we do it." He paused. "I'm shitting it, Simon."

"I bought something for that," said Simon, "it's in the car. D'you want me to get it?"

Gene looked at him distastefully.

"_No!" _he cried, "I mean… I'm…" he couldn't bring himself to say 'scared'. "I don't want to lose her."

"I thought the news was good?" frowned Simon.

"It just seems …" Gene trailed off. "I don't know. Just got a bad feeling. Like a burning in me gut."

"I've got something in the car for that, too," said Simon.

"I can't believe there's any way that she would be able to wake up here from the exact same bloody gunshot wound that's had her laying in a bloody coma for the last two years in two thousand and bollocks," said Gene.

"It's a different situation," sighed Simon, "I read her files, Gene. She was shot out in the open in some… grimy place, god knows how long it was before she was found. Today she was shot in a hospital! If you're going to get shot, that's a pretty useful place for it to happen."

Gene put down his bottle and started on another plane. This one, he was keen to aim at Thomas. He'd get ten points for hitting him anywhere on his body, twenty points if he got him in the eye and thirty if he got him on the arse.

"I'm glad she's got you as a friend now," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"It's been a while since she had anyone to talk to. _Really _talk to. 'Cept me. It's a turnstile of people here, son. Doesn't do to get to attached." He fired his plane but the pointy end wasn't as well folded as it could have been and it did a little loop the loop before landing back at Gene's feet. "I'll tell you something that will make you laugh, Shoebury. Was a time when you first arrived, some people saw you as a threat," he paused, "to me and Bolly."

"Some people?" frowned Simon, "which people?" Gene looked embarrassed, _"you?"_

Gene cleared his throat.

"You came in here, all young and smart and technical," he looked down, "course, I wasn't to know you were a shirt-lifting nerd with a sci-fi convention going on inside yer head at the time. Would have shed a different light on things."

Simon let those comments slide.

"Five days ago," he said quietly, "I woke up in a car with some woman I didn't know, crawled out from the wreckage, saw you and passed out in horror."

Gene lifted the bottle.

"Come a long way in five days, haven't we?"

Simon nodded slowly.

"Just a bit," he said quietly.

Gene stared at the bottle but didn't drink from it. He read the label, watched the liquid sloshing back and forth, ran his finger around its neck. Anything to distract him. Finally he looked back at Simon.

"So what do I do now, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Waiting to see what happens with Alex." Gene sighed. "I'm not the patient type. I'm not very good with all this… coma malarkey either." He remembered fleeing the country the last time Alex had been in this position. "I sat by her bed… before they kicked me out… I didn't know what to say."

"Tell her you need her," said Simon, "tell her to be strong. Ask her to keep fighting." He paused. "When I had my accident…"

"I like the way you always talk about '_your accident' _to make it sound more credible than getting a computer in yer 'ead," Gene told him.

Simon frowned.

"I'll ignore that," he said, "when I was in a coma, I heard flashes of things from home. It kept me going. Gave me strength. It was when I heard them losing hope… when Keats played me those messages on my iPhone… that I began to lose hope too."

"I don't even have a bloody iPhone," said Gene, "I don't know what one is."

"They haven't been invented yet," said Simon, "and anyway, that wasn't my point!" he ran his fingers through his hair as his mind began to wander. He glanced at Gene. "Did she really wake up? On the screen? In her own time?"

The memory caused Gene to take a large mouthful of scotch which he swallowed with an audible gulp. He nodded and waited for the drink to start doing its work.

"Saw it as plain as anything, Shoebury. Grabbed Batman by the wrist. Told him to live. Then it was all…. Alarms and sirens. "

"Shit," Simon sighed. He put his chin in his hands. "I wish I knew if her message got through to him," he whispered, "I wish there was some way of knowing. Apart from waiting a few years and seeing if Keats appears at my door with a smug grin or not."

"There is," said Gene. He saw Simon look at him clulessly. "A way of knowing." He reached behind him onto a pile of folders and brought forward a folder. "Your file. I'm one step ahead of you again." he handed it to Simon, "twenty fifth of January, two thousand and eleven, Robin Thomas is completely and totally exonerated over the death of DCI Simon Shoebury. Reinstated at work, nothing on 'is record, case closed, situation normal."

Simon stared at him, aghast. He began to look through the file for himself but every word Gene had said was true. There was even a photograph of Robin leaving the court a free man.

"I don't believe it," he cried. His mouth fell open like the Greenwich foot tunnel. "But… how is that possible? I thought you couldn't change the past here?"

"Alex didn't change the past," Gene reminded him, "she changed the future."

"But just because it hadn't happened yet doesn't mean it wasn't going to have happened," said Simon, "the paradox -"

"Stop right there," Gene held up his hand, "is the sentence you are about to launch into going to contain a high concentration of text and theory you've got from watching Red Dwarf?"

Simon blushed.

"Maybe."

"Then I suggest you leave it at that before you get a paper plane jammed up each nostril."

Simon scowled.

"I seriously need to locate some other geeks in this place," he mumbled, "otherwise eternity is going to seem like a very lonely place." He sighed. "so… so what happens to Robin now?" he asked quietly, "how does he die? Eventually, I mean?"

Gene shook his head.

"Won't know that until his file lands on my desk," he said.

Simon nodded slowly and closed his eyes.

"Or on mine," he whispered hopefully.

"Speaking of which," Gene began, "that dedicated new recruit of yours… Vickery…"

Simon's spirits took a nose-dive.

"Yes?"

"He was round looking for you earlier. Something about disks and some tasteful pictures of a woman sticking a vegetable in an unmentionable place?"

Simon cringed and slapped his forehead.

"Suddenly I'm starting to regret not making that transfer to Fenchurch West official," he said.

~xXx~

Gene tiptoed back into Alex's room. The doctor had thrown him out earlier on, that much was true, but in a way he was grateful. Staring at Alex's comatose body and lifeless expression had started to eat away at him; to burn at his soul. He couldn't take it. He wasn't cut out for this. He remembered the last time she'd been comatose in his world. It was true enough that charges were on his tail but that wasn't the real reason he'd fled the country. It was the guilt. The guilt of knowing that Alex was in a coma and he had put her there had destroyed him internally.

This time a very different man was responsible for her condition but he was no better equipped for seeing her in that state than he'd been years earlier.

"Oh, Bolly," he sank down into the chair beside her and rubbed his eyes, "how did we end up in this mess, eh?" He took his hand away from his face and finally looked at her, _really_ looked at her. If it wasn't for her bandages and machinery she could almost be sleeping peacefully in her bed. _Their_ bed He sighed. "Shoebury thinks I need to come and tell you to come 'ome. He says you need to know I'm not giving up on you." He wanted to stroke her face but it wasn't the done thing for the Gene Genie to do. The only time he got away with that was early in morning when she was still asleep, or when she's had one to many glasses of the red stuff and wouldn't remember on the morning.

"Last time you were like this all it took was a slap," he cringed as he remembered his crude wake-up technique. "Somehow I don't think that's going to do yer 'ead a lot of go this time though. "He leaned forward a little. "You gonna come back, Bollyknickers? You better had do. You can't leave me with geek-of-the year, I'll go bloody mad. He'll have me wearing an H on me 'ead and queuing up for autographs at sci-fi conventions before I can catch me breath. And what about your ring? Cost me a bloody arm and a leg, that did. You've not even had it on yer finger for a day. Got to wake up. Got to come and pick another ring to join it." He pulled her hand across to him. The doctors had at least let her ring stay on. Well, they had after Gene had threatened that anyone who tried to remove it for health and safety reasons would end up wearing it through their nose instead.

"Look," he said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "I'll do anything if you come back to me. I'm not good with… well, I'm not really the nursemaid type. I know I threatened amputation when you had a splinter. And when you had food poisoning I hid in the car for a week. But I'll take care of you, Bols. Whatever happens, whatever state you're in, however long it takes." He lowered his head and closed his eyes. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He just wished that the world could stop racing away for a little while so he could catch his breath. "Just…. Just do what they say you will. Open your eyes. Come back to me." He hesitated as he watched her face for any trace of life. She was so still, it made him shudder. He'd come so close to losing her. "I'd better leave you in peace, Lady B. Don't want to wear you out too much, giving you horny dreams about ruggedly handsome DCIs in fast cars." He leaned forward and gently placed his lips against her cheek. Then he moved his lips to her ear where he whispered to her quietly, drew back, got to his feet and slowly walked to the door. With one final glance back at her, he left her alone and slipped away to spend the first night on his own for many years.

~X~

A minute passed. Two. Three.

There was a blip on one of the monitors.

Then another.

With the third one, a nurse came rushing into the room.

Not ten seconds later there was a flicker, a flutter of eyelids. One split second of open eyes, a shout for a doctor and a flurry of excitement.

"…_Alex? Alex, don't try to speak. You have suffered an injury to your head. A gunshot wound. We;'ve operated successfully but you're going to be paralysed from the drugs we've had to give you while you recuperate. Just stay calm, we're going to check you over…"_

A bright light blinded Alex momentarily as her pupils were checked and her brain was scrambled by the mix of voices talking all around her.

She closed her eyes and let the commotion wash around her. She couldn't move or speak so it seemed like the best thing to do. She couldn't make a lot of sense of what was going on around her but she didn't even try. Perhaps, tomorrow, things would fall into place. Until then, a light and dreamless sleep took her away from the action and allowed to the rest she needed.

~xXx~

Molly wasn't used to hearing voices in the night. In all the time she'd been living with Evan one thing he was a stickler for was getting his eight hours of a sleep a night and rarely even went to the bathroom or down to the kitchen for a glass of water between the hours of eleven and seven. The sound of his voice woke her by the sheer fact that it was such an unusual thing to hear.

She climbed out of bed, shivering as the cold November night cut through her pyjamas and tiptoed onto the landing. She peered over the banister to see him finishing a phone call, a strange look upon his face.

"Yes, thank you… thank you _very_ much…" he heard the creaking of the floorboards above him and glanced up to see Molly standing and peering over at him. He held up one finger as though to stop her from talking before the call was complete then said, "We'll be there as soon as we can. Thank you. That's wonderful news." he paused. "Goodbye, doctor."

The sound of that final word had Molly's full attention as she watched Evan hanging up the phone.

"What's happened?" she asked nervously, her heart making assumptions that her common sense was trying to smother.

"It's your mother," Evan's expression became a mix of shocked delight, "that was the hospital. They noticed some strange activity on the monitors and while they were observing her she…" he could hardly finish the sentence. They were words he never thought he would be able to share with Molly. "She woke _up."_

For a moment Molly thought she was dreaming, Then she thought she'd misheard. She tried scratching in her ears as though to dislodge any errant wax and looked back at Evan. She realised her mouth was hanging open just a little. She couldn't help it.

"She is?" she heard her voice whisper, then followed it up with the loudest scream she'd ever given in her life. She flew down the staircase faster than she thought her legs could ever move and before she knew it she'd thrown herself at Evan with an almighty hug that almost knocked him to the ground.

"_Wait, _Molly, hold on," Evan tried to hold her back a little, "they warned me she can't speak or move yet. She can only move her eyes. She's still on heavy doses of medication. They'll lower them slowly during the course of the day and the we'll have more idea of the long term effects of her coma and how much function she will be able to get back in her body. But it's a start. She's woken up - she has a long journey ahead but she's back with us."

The warmth in Molly's heart as she hugged Evan with excitement and joy began to melt the last two and a half years of sadness and heartbreak. Her mother's eyes were open, and even if that was just the first step it was more than she'd had a few hours before. She could scarcely believe that her greatest wish was starting to come true.

Now she just needed to focus all her attention and love on helping her mum to get better. That was all she ever wanted.


	68. Chapter 67: Wakey Wakey Drakies

**Chapter Sixty Seven**

"I'm telling you, Gene, it's the next big thing!"

A Shoebury at stupid o'clock in the morning was not what Gene needed the day after Alex had received a bullet in the head.

After leaving the hospital he'd driven around for some time. He didn't want to go back to the flat on his own. It didn't feel right. And it was _Alex's_ flat anyway. He didn't want to be there without her. It was the first time he'd slept on his own in almost ten years and he didn't like it. Plus, the Fiat wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the Merc used to be.

He tried for hours to get to sleep. Listened to he radio. Stole a paper off a tramp and tried to read that. Got some exercise running away from an angry tramp lacking a newspaper. Still he couldn't sleep. It was almost four in the morning when he finally passed out from exhaustion and managed to squeeze in a couple of hours of nightmare-filled sleep, deep dark thoughts about Keats, guns and Bolly's brain plaguing every last second. It wasn't until he was woken up by the sheer volume of his stomach rumbling away that he realised he hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. His fuzzy, thumping head and arid tongue reminded him that the only thing he'd had to drink in hours had been scotch.

He tried to remedy the situation but to his utmost distress he found he had been barred from Latte Land after his ruckus with Simon the day before and a big picture of Gene had been erected in the window below the caption; "_WARNING: Do Not Serve This Man Lattes". _With a flurry of angry curse words he found a McDonalds open and bought what practically added up to a year's supply of junk food instead. Not wishing to go to the flat without Alex, he drove to work and arrived just before half past six, only to find Simon, complete with a nasty looking shiner, chasing him excitedly through the corridors.

"Why is it," he cried, "that every day since you arrived you've pursued me on the way to me office? No good ever comes of it either."

"No, it'll be great," Simon enthused, "honestly. It's really popular and it'll like a CID bonding exercise. You, me, Kim and Alex, each one of us cooks a three course meal for everyone else on consecutive nights, we score each other out of ten and the winner…" he paused, "well, on the programme the winner gets a cash prize but we might have to play for bragging rights…"

Gene spun around to find Simon closer than he realised. An inch away from his nose, he threatened;

"Look, Shoebury, my fiancée is laying in hospital with a hole in her head! I've lost two of my best people to the Railway Arms, got another one out on sick leave for a week and had Jimbo disappear in a puff of smoke. I do _not_ need you coming in here, pitching twenty-first century television shows at me at half past ridiculous in the morning! Now, no offence to you, or yer three course meal, but the only thing I want to shove in me gob right now is a big mac and fries. So take your _Come Scoff All My Food_ or whatever it's called and go pitch it to the woman with the fat arse in the canteen!"

"It's _Come Dine With Me,"_ Simon protested, but to no avail.

"What are you bothering me at this time in the morning anyway?" Gene demanded, "it's far too early for this!"

"Kim's been yelling at me since four this morning," Simon explained.

"Why, what did you do? Threaten her with an X-Files marathon?"

"She's giving up smoking," Simon explained, "it's not going very well."

"I can help her with that," Gene began, "I had a special technique for just this kind of situation. First, you get a filing cabinet and then you bunch up your fist…"

"Why do all your methods and techniques involve violence against filing cabinets?" fried Simon

A rapidly approaching set of footsteps caught their attention as Thomas came rushing up to their side.

"Guv!" He cried, "The hospital have been calling. They couldn't get in touch with you."

Gene froze on the spot. His eyes opened wide and he glanced at Simon with panic across his face..

"What's happened?" he demanded.

"DCI Drake," Thomas began, "She woke up last night."

Gene felt the ground coming closer to his face. He didn't even realise at fitst that this was because he was passing out. A moment later there was a pain in the side of his head where he hit a desk on the way down and a terrible sense of embarrassment spreading through him. He cleared his throat and got to his feet, smoothed his jacket down a little and picked up his spilled fast food haul.

"Yes," he began, "uh, thank you. Thank you for the information."

Simon looked at him in alarm.

"Gene, what happened? He cried, "Are you OK?

"Been on an all-scotch diet for the last twenty four hours," Gene mumbled, "and didn't even get me latte today. I've been barred thanks to you!"

"Me?" cried Simon.

Gene grabbed something from his McDonalds bag and thrust it at Simon.

"Here, stick this on yer eye."

Simon frowned.

"What is it?"

"Hamburger."

"Gene, it's raw steak for black eyes!" cried Simon, "and that's a myth anyway!"

"Stick it in yer gob then, shut you up on the journey!"

Before Simon could argue Gene began running as fast as his legs would allow out of CID, leaving a trail of fries and confused detectives in his wake. Throwing his burger onto a desk, Simon took up the chase. The hospital was calling, and Alex was waiting.

~xXx~

Victoria pushed her long, flame coloured hair back over her shoulder and checked through the file in front if her. The actions of the day before had been confusing to say the least. The appearance and subsequent disappearance of a new DCI called Simon for a brand new, then suddenly dissolved department had caused a fair few murmurings through Fenchurch West. So had the announcement of Jim Keats taking a month of compassionate leave.

Despite the rumours and the comments, Victoria's heart went out to him when she heard his reasons. It may have gone some way to explaining his erratic behaviour of late too.

She stood up and took her file to a cabinet on the other side of the office, opened the drawer, sorted through for the right compartment, slipped the papers inside and shut the drawer again. She turned around and gave a sudden gasp of surprise when she found DCI Keats standing directly behind her.

"Oh sir!" she cried, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you… didn't see you…" she had to shudder to even think about it but it felt as though one second there was no one behind her, the next he had just appeared in that space.

"You need to keep your wits around you, DI Stone." Keats said seriously, "especially if you are going to run this department in my absence."

Victoria glanced down.

"I know," she said quietly, "I'm really sorry, Sir. I'm so sorry, I didn't even know you had…" she realised she didn't know whether he had a wife, a girlfriend, a fiancée or any other kind of female acquaintance. "I didn't know you…" she paused. "I'm so sorry about your baby, Sir."

One eye began to twitch. Keats rubbed it quickly to stop it from letting out the emotions he was securing tightly behind his expressionless gaze.

"Thank you, Victoria," he said quietly, "as you are aware, I need some time to come to terms with this. I'll be going away for a while. I'm afraid you won't be able to contact me, but I am sure you will do a sterling job filling in for me."

Victoria nodded nervously.

"I'll try, Sir," she said.

Keats nodded back and looked at her seriously.

"While I am away please prepare for the arrival of a couple of new staff," he said, "keep it to yourself for now. It's on the QT. Don't need Hunt and his lot sniffing round before they've had a chance to settle in, do we?"

"No, Guv," said Victoria.

He handed her a couple of files and gave a nod.

"I will be in touch within the month to let you know when I plan to return."

"Alright," said Victoria, "Please, take all the time you need."

"Thank you."

Victoria looked down at the files. She frowned and looked back up.

"But this one says -" she began, but her words fell on stony ground. Where a moment earlier Keats had stood before her, there was now a blank space in the room. She looked around, left and right, up and down but there was no sign of him. It was as though he had never been there in the first place. Her heart began to race. It was yet another thing that she stored away in her memory for future reference; her mental list of strange things abut her place of work. She looked back at the files in her hands, the only reminder that Keats had been there at all. The file on the top had a photograph of a gentleman in a well and truly outdated uniform and the Fenchurch East stamp on the top.

_Viv James,_ it said.

She sighed and laid the pile of papers on top of the cabinet. Whoever Viv James was, she hoped he knew what he was getting into.

"Welcome to hell, Mister James," she said under her breath.

She had no idea how close to the truth she was.

~X~

As Keats disappeared into the eerie glow of the November sunrise he knew that he needed some time to regroup. Plan after pla had failed, blow after blow had crumbled away his defences. The emotions that he had fought for so long to keep out of his life were starting to re-emerge with results that had shaken him to the core.

Nights with Kim, the baby he'd lost, Simon on the roof, the tape he never wished to see… they all plagued him They all tried to wear away at the walls he had placed around himself for so many years.

It was time for some time away. Let Gene have some time to think he had the world all to himself again. Lull him into a false sense of security. Then - another day, another plan - he would re-launch his efforts and finally he would get all of those things he'd come so close to achieving this time.

Twice he'd tried to bring Hunt's world down. Twice he'd come blisteringly close to succeeding. Next time there would be no question about it. Next time he would have to succeed.

It would be third time lucky for Keats.

He was more sure of that than he was of the quality of the entire Wham back catalogue.

~xXx~

Gene shovelled a handful of fries into his mouth with one hand while trying to steer with the other.

Simon wasn't sure what was going to kill him first - Gene's one-handed driving or getting battered by half-eaten French fries.

"For goodness sake, Gene, why didn't you just ask _me_ to drive?" he cried.

"This car is not to be driven by the likes of anyone who would put to use a bumper sticker that says '_My Other Vehicle Is Red Dwarf," _Gene told him through a mouthful of half-eaten fries.

"Can't you just wait until we get there before you start filling your face?" Simon protested.

"Listen," Gene reached for another handful as he made a sharp right turn, "if I don't eat _before _we get to the hospital I might end up eating one of her legs. OK?"

"I still think you should have let me drive." Simon protested as he watched, horrified, while Gene unwrapped a Big Mac using the gear stick as a second hand.

"Look, Shoebury," Gene began to get angry, "I've not eaten anything in the last twenty four hours so if you mmmwwwwmmm mmmwwwwahhhhh uuhhhhmmmmm hmmmmmmmpppp." he concluded, taking a large bite of his burger.

"_Watch out!" _screamed Shoebury as Gene almost crashed into a lamp post.

Gene swallowed his burger in a hurry and glanced at Simon.

"Maybe you were right, Shoebury," he began cautiously, "you _should_ drive. Swap places."

"_What?" _cried Simon, his screams becoming more high pitched and girly with every moment that passed. He saw in horror that Gene had not been joking and a large Gene Hunt-shaped backside was looming large. "I thought you were going to at least _stop!"_

He somehow managed to slip underneath Gene's arched body and into the driver's seat where he gripped the wheel and tried to wrestle the car under control. "Oh Ugh! There's grease all over the steering wheel!"

"Some of that's not grease, it's ketchup," Gene informed him, taking another handful of fries from the bag.

Simon made an attempt to wipe the wheel with his sleeve while steering. He glanced crossly at Gene.

"I wasn't intending to have another car accident this week, thanks very much," he said.

Gene took another large bite of his burger and swallowed it down, hardly taking time to chew it. He glanced at Simon. Their conversation the day before ad been very valuable to Gene.

"I…" he coughed, pretending he had some burger stuck in his throat, "I took yer advice yesterday,"

"What advice?" Simon tried to keep his eyes on the road.

"About going to the hospital," Gene explained, "talking to her."

Simon looked at him for a second.

"Oh," he was genuinely surprised, "well, I'm glad. Maybe it made the difference."

Gene didn't think a few words could have made that much of a difference to her but wasn't going to debate it. He was just grateful she had woken up at all.

"I told her I needed her to come back," he said.

"Good."

"And that I'd look after her."

"I'm glad."

Gene felt his face burning up. He sank down a little in the seat and hid behind a large portion of fries.

"I, uh," he coughed again, "I whispered something an' all."

Simon glanced at Gene. He hoped it wasn;t going to be something rude.

"Yeah?"

"Told her something I thought she should know."

Simon frowned.

"It wasn't about my constipation again was it?" he asked suspiciously.

"No!" cried Gene, "it was…. well," he shrugged. "You know the score."

Simon frowned. Gene was talking a different language.

"What score? You told her the football scores?"

"No!" Gene cried, his face turning redder, "you're a man of the world, Shoebury. You know how it is."

"No, I do not know '_how it is'_," Simon frowned, "I'm sorry, Hunt I think I missed the mind-reading lesson at Time-travel school!"

Gene coughed again.

"I told her I, _you know_," he looked at Simon, "don't make me say it."

"You what?" Simon was feeling well and truly exasperated by now, "if I knew what you were trying to say I'd tell you!"

"_You know," _Gene said through gritted teeth, "I…. _Hmmmm_… her."

"You shagged her?" Simon was totally clueless.

"Shoebury, _no!" _cried Gene, "I think she probably noticed the times that happened!"

Simon suddenly realised what Gene was talking about and almost crashed the car.

"Oh!" he cried, "you mean you lo-"

"_Shhhhh," _Gene hushed all over him, "not so loud."

Simon shook his head slowly.

"What, in case the car blabs?" he looked at him sideways. "Gene , have you never told her you loved her before?"

Gene hid behind an extraordinary large piece of lettuce that had fallen out of his Big Mac.

"It's not the done thing, Simon," he said, "not for men of my generation anyway. A slap on the arse usually does it."

"Ten years you've been together?" Simon couldn't quite believe it, "ten years and you never said?"

"Well I've told her _now_, haven't I?" Gene said. He took a large mouthful of fries again to stop Simon asking him any more questions or a moment. He knew Simon was right, Ten years and he'd never said it. The closest he came was when Alex, on the rare occasions she risked getting a telling off for being soft, said it to him and he replied with _Yeah, me an' all._ He looked down a little. Maybe Keats wasn't the only one who had trouble getting a handle on emotions, he thought.

He sighed a little. At least he was able to tell the person he loved how he felt about them. He looked at Simon.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Simon glanced at him.

"For what? The grease on the wheel?"

Gene looked into the remains of his McDonalds.

"For being stuck 'ere, without Robin," he said, "for everything you've had to deal with."

Simon stared ahead of him, glad that he had to focus on the road so that Gene wouldn't see his eyes glistening.

"Less than one week, Gene," he said quietly, "less than a week ago a normal Monday morning turned into a nightmare. The crash, waking up here, finding Robin was here as well, catching Nailer…"

"…sitting on 'im," Gene pointed out.

"…catching Robin's father…"

"…sitting on 'im, too…"

"…finally proposing to Robin, then seeing him disappear… Keats turning up like a bad penny…"

"Bad fiver, more like."

"…and then the basement," Simon had to stop talking as memories of the news reports of his funeral began to come back to him. He had to bite back tears.

Gene took a deep breath.

"I'm also sorry for what Keats did to you," he said.

Simon looked at him guiltily.

"What do you mean what he did to me?" he asked quickly, thinking of their moment on then roof.

"Making you tell Kite and Malcolm they were pushing up the daisies," said Gene.

Simon felt a lump in throat. He'd tried hard to forget about that.

"That was probably the cruellest thing of all," he said quietly.

Gene finished the last handful of fries and blew his nose loudly on the greasy napkin. He tossed the bag to the floor and looked at Simon again.

"This place was getting too big for me and Bolly alone," he said, "we needed someone to lend an 'and. And for what it's worth, I'm glad it was you who joined us."

Simon looked at Gene. That was a pretty big compliment from someone who had been asking him for a pair of size elevens just a few days earlier.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

They both fell silent for a few moments until Gene gave a pained belch and rubbed his chest.

"Ugh, Shoebury why didn't you warn me not to belt that?" he scolded.

Simon looked at him aghast.

"_Me?" _he cried, "I'm not your mother!"

"You wear the same perfume," Gene mocked.

Simon ignored him and continued driving to the hospital. As he pulled into the car park he couldn't believe that just the day before so much had taken place in that very building. He couldn't help taking a peek up at the roof of the hospital. Where _had_ Keats gone to? He didn't know, but he had a sinking feeling he would find out one day.

~xXx~

"Be careful!"

Molly ignored Evan as he tried to stop her from running through the hospital corridors. She just needed to get to her mother's room. Needed to see for herself. After so long, so many months, two and a half years she couldn't believe that she would actually find her mother's eyes open and staring back at her. When the bells had rung out for the new year just a couple of hours earlier she had been sadly mourning the year passing without her mother back in her life. If the doctor's call had been true then this would be the best new year's present ever.

"Mum! _Mum!"_ she screamed as she flew into the room.

There were doctors aplenty gathered around the bed, and somewhere in the middle of the room were an open pair of eyes. Molly's initial reaction was to rush to her mother, to throw her arms around her and tell her how much she missed and loved her but the wall of medical experts blocked her path.

"Alex, I want you to listen to me," a doctor was saying, "you've been in a coma for a very long time. You will find you are unable to move right now because of the medication you are on. For now we need to work out how much you can understand." Molly noted with distaste that the doctor was talking to her like she was three years old. "Now, if you can understand what I am saying, try to blink twice. OK?"

The room waited and held its breath. Then, after a short hesitation, she gave two short blinks just as Evan entered the room.

The doctors gave noises of approval and Molly gave a shriek of excitement spurred on by their positive reaction.

"Well done, Alex," said the doctor, "and again?"

Two more times, Alex's eyelids closed and re-opened.

"Alright, thank you, Alex," the doctor continued, "now, I'm going to tell you a few things and you blink if you understand them. One blink for yes, two for no. Is that OK?"

Alex gave one, slow blink.

"OK," the doctor continued, "you have been in a coma for around two and a half years. Do you understand?"

A blink.

"You were shot in the head and underwent surgery to remove the bullet. Do you under stand?"

One blink.

"And do you remember the shooting?"

A pause. Then one blink.

"Good. Now, we will need to run a number of tests and to check you over during the rest of the day, but right now your daughter is here. Would you like to see her?"

Alex hesitated. She waited for so long that the doctor had to ask her again. Finally, she gave two slow blinks. The doctor frowned.

"Sorry, Alex can you show us that one again?" he asked, "One blink for yes, two for no."

Two more blinks.

The doctors exchanged a glance.

"OK, Alex. This is obviously a big step and a big day for you. You will need a lot of rest. You take some time to sleep now and we'll ask her to come back later." He patted her on the shoulder. "Well done, Alex."

The doctor turned to Molly and Evan who were waiting expectantly. He gave a little sigh, not really wanting to be the one to break Molly's heart

"Well?" Evan prompted.

The doctor took a deep breath.

"Neurologically, Alex is doing very well," he began, "she is able to understand us and can blink to reply yes or no. Although this might seem like a small achievement, after two and a half years in a comatose state this is remarkable."

"Have you any idea why she woke up so fast and so suddenly?" Evan asked "after the last attempt at bringing her round I thought we were looking at a slow procedure the next time."

"Believe me, this has taken us all by surprise," the doctor told him, "she has done this of her own accord. It must have just been her time."

"Can I see her now?" Molly asked hopefully.

The doctor developed a peculiar expression across his face. He wished the answer to that question was 'yes'.

"I'm afraid your mother is… very tired," he said quietly, "she needs some time to rest."

"_Rest?" _cried Molly, "but-but she's just woken up!"

"I know, and that's been a big strain on her body. She needs some time to rest now as she adjusts."

"But we came all the way here!" Molly looked for all the world as though she might cry.

"Come on, Molly, the doctors know best," Evan said quietly, although he looked just as deflated the young girl.

"Perhaps if you come back in a few hours she'll be ready for visitors," the doctor said diplomatically.

Molly stared past him.

"_Mum," _she cried_, "Mummy!"_

"Come on," Evan said quietly, "let's go and find the canteen. We'll see if they've got any of those smiley biscuits in today."

Molly looked from Evan to the doctor. Her heart was breaking all over again.

"Why did you call us and tell us if we couldn't see her?" she cried.

"I'm sorry, young lady -"

"Don't _'young lady' _me!"

"I'm… sorry," Evan placed his hands on her shoulders to try to calm her down, "we had a late night and after the false alarm of her mother waking up a couple of weeks ago… and we just lost a family friend recently…"

"Don't make excuses for me" cried Molly

She protested hard as Evan began to steer her out of the door and along the corridor.

The doctor watched them go, feeling incredibly guilty then turned back to Alex.

"Your daughter will be back later," he told her. He noticed she blinked twice but thought it was just a coincidence. "Perhaps you'll feel up to seeing her then.

The doctor turned away to make some notes on her chart right then. He turned at the wrong moment. If he'd been facing her he would gave seen her blink twice again, followed by a whole flurry of blinks that were an attempt at get his attention. Finally, he would have seen one tear form and roll down her cheek from the corner of her eye in fear, confusion and devastation.

~xXx~

Simon tried to ignore Gene's pickle-scented belches as they ran through corridor after corridor.

"You need some mouthwash or something," he told him, "if she catches a whiff of your breath she'll go right back into a coma."

Despite giving Simon a two fingered salute, Gene was secretly impressed. He hadn't met anyone who gave as good as they got in a very long time. It did him good to have someone to sharpen his wit against.

"Through 'ere," he said, turning down a familiar corridor and almost running right into a doctor. The doctor turned to them, peered over his spectacles and scratched his beard.

"Didn't I throw you out of here yesterday?" he asked.

Gene shuffled on the floor.

"Mush have been some other handsome man with a flask," he said.

"We're here to see Alex Drake," said Simon.

"Or yer gastroenterology department," said Gene, trying to hide another burp.

"Ahh, yes, Alex," the doctor's expression softened. He looked at Gene. "She's your fiancée, isn't she?"

Gene nodded.

"Someone told us a little rumour she opened her eyes," he said, swallowing with the fear that it might not be true.

"She woke last night," the doctor told him, "looks like you missed her by moments. We weren't expecting her to wake up so soon but she's responding well to all the tests she's been put through so far. I'll warn you though, she's weak and she can't move or speak yet. We are slowly reducing her dose so that she will be able to regain control of her body over the next couple of days, Then we will be able to get some idea of whether there is any long term damage."

"There's no damage," Gene said firmly, "this is Bolly we're talking about." He marched past the doctor, into the room and found himself standing in front of the woman he'd held in his arms the day before, a whisker away from taking her soul. Now her eyes were open and looking back at him. He tried not to smile. He didn't smile generally. Not as a rule. It was not the Gene Genie way. The tugging of the corners of his mouth was difficult to fight though.

He walked closer and sat down beside her bed. Her eyes were glistening. So beautiful. _So_ beautiful

"I'll give you two some time," Simon's voice hardly registered behind him as he gave a wave to Alex. "I'll be back later."

Gene nodded but didn't look back.

"Thanks, Shoebury," he said. He looked down and saw Alex's hand laying next to him. He lifted it and held it gently between his own. The ring glistened upon it. As it caught the light it brought a little more of a smile to Gene's lips. He tried not to look her in the eye.

"That was a fair old scare you gave me, Bolly," he said quietly, "yesterday you're there in me lap and I'm about to say goodbye." he took a deep breath and tried hard to calm his nerves. He didn't like feeling emotional. It wasn't in his nature. "The thing is," he said quietly, "I didn't want to say goodbye. I _never_ want to say goodbye. And I've spent the last ten years getting ready to say it." He finally looked up at her. Her eyes were wide but she was unable to move her body or her face. She couldn't speak, couldn't do a thing. In a way it was harder to speak to her now than when she was comatose. "I'm not gonna be doing that any more," he said quietly, "I'm not going to spend our lives waiting for you to fade out again and to say goodbye for good. I don't want you leaving me, Bolly. And don't think you want to leave, either. I'll fight to keep you by my side. You hear me?" He looked at her blank eyes, wishing that she had some way - any way at all - of telling him that she understood, that she agreed, that his words echoed her own sentiments. Her squeezed her hand a little more tightly. "So let's make a deal. You stay here with me and I'll so my best to make up for anything you miss about your own time. Now, if that means… spending the best part of me pension on the best television set, then we'll do it. You want a big white wedding with Shoebury as yer bridesmaid-in-chief? You got it. Honeymoon? If you want a posh week in Paris or a dirty weekend in Blackpool, ether way, I'm yer man. He paused. "but you got to keep your end of the deal. You've got to stay here. Because I need you, Bols." he looked her in the eye again, "And I know how much now."

It was funny, Gene realised, but he had been through a huge transformation over the course of one week. Simon and Robin's arrival had been the catalyst for that. Seeing things fall apart around them again, watching half their team disband, seeing the love and tenderness between the others they shared an office with, fighting back against Keats - everything had brought home to him just what was important in his life. It was a shame it had taken him ten years to realise it, but he was just thankful he had found out in the end.

He leaned forward a little more closely as he saw her eyes beginning to flicker and close.

"You must be wiped out," he said, "opening yer eyes with great big fluttering eyelashes like that, must be a strain on you!" he reached forward and laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek. I need to go and talk with yer docs. Get some kind of timescale on when you'll be up and about. But I'll be back later." He saw her eyes close as exhaustion proved too much for her and leaned closer to her ear. Once again he whispered gently to her, certain she would hear him this time, the got to his feet and took a last look at her beautiful, peaceful form.

Fighting a smile of relief and elation he began to walk slowly away. It had taken almost losing her to really help him see what she meant to him, and how much of himself he would lose without her. That wasn't something he was going to forget in a hurry. Now that she was back, even though it would take some time for her to recuperate, they were strong together, He would take care of her as long as she needed and, when she was ready, her cosy little office and her comfy chair would be ready and waiting for her again to take her place by his side at the station.

Fenchurch East would be ready and waiting for her to return, and together - with help from Simon, Kim and any sundry souls that passed through - they would be strong enough to fight the likes of Keats, no matter what he threw at them. The week had brought more trials and tribulations than either could have imagined one short week ago but they had survived.

Now, the future was theirs for the taking. And he was determined to make sure they reached out and grasped it with both hands together.

~X~

As she closed her eyes, Alex begged silently for it to stop.

She wanted it all to go away.

It didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense.

She remembered the gunshot. She remembered the pain the instant that bullet buried itself into her skin.

And then everything had been turned upside down.

Where was her Molly? Her dear friend Evan? Where were the people she knew? Where _was_ she?

She opened her eyes one last time to catch a glimpse of the man with the dark blonde hair and the scent of pickles and fries as he left he room. A tear formed in her eye which ran quickly down her face. Unable to move, she was powerless to stop it.

She closed her eyes again and longed to fall asleep; for the darkness to take this strange dream away from her . She couldn't make sense of it, couldn't make sense of _anything._ Before she allowed sleep to overtake her and drape her in a soothing cloak of blackness she took one last look at the man, the one who'd held her hand so gently, the one who had whispered a declaration of affection into her ear.

One thought and one thought only came into her head before sleep took her away.

"_Who the hell are you?"_

**~xXx~ The End ~xXx~**

**Epilogue Up Tomorrow - along with a massive author's note of thanks and stuff!**


	69. Epilogue: Something To Write Home About

**Epilogue**

**New Year's Eve 2010**

Robin sat at the kitchen table, staring into a glass of something he'd never usually have considered drinking, Not in a million years. But as his life turned to dust around him drink had taken on a new meaning. His eyes glanced up at the clock. Just a few hours left now. A few hours left of the year that stole Simon away from him, that took his career from him, that looked in danger of taking his freedom away too. The thought of going to prison terrified him beyond words. An openly gay ex-police inspector in the cells? He wouldn't last two minutes.

But the thought that scared him more than that was living without Simon. Trying to survive without him in his life.

The moment he faded out of Gene's world he felt a rush of joy; the excitement of heading home, more certain than he ever had been that Simon would be joining him as soon as he could. He could still picture the doctors avoiding his gaze when he asked to see him or how he was doing. He could still see the strained look on their faces as they finally sat down to tell him the truth.

He let out his breath loudly and lifted the bottles and packets of pills he had amassed in the last couple of weeks. He would have taken them by now. He'd planned to be dead before the year had entered its last four hours. But someone had urged him to live, and knowing who that came from made him think twice.

The strangest part of his experience in Gene's world had been meeting Alex. After all Simon that had told him about her, how she'd helped him in that place the first time around, then after all they had been through with Keats, to finally meet her - _a non-comatose Alex _- had been very surreal. It was as though he was meeting a stranger he knew so well.

He'd spent countless hours by her bed since waking up. She was the last link he had to Simon. The last link he had to the one man he didn't think he could live without. Despite all of Evan's legal help, Simon's family showing him as much love as they would for Simon and the support of his colleagues the one person who could have got him through this was gone.

Alex's impassioned plea, her one-word demand had called a halt to his intentions. He'd made a deal in his mind as he watched the crash team trying to revive her that, if she survived, he wouldn't carry out his plan. He'd spent too many days swapping places with Molly by her bed not to yearn for her safe return to the real world. After the crash team had brought her back he'd wandered in a daze for a good two or three hours before returning home and opening the bottle. He'd gone over and over in his head what to do. Trying to make the best decision for himself, for everyone.

At half past nine on New Year's Eve 2010 he made the decision to live.

He grasped the pots of pills and took them to the bathroom where he opened each one and emptied their contents into the toilet. He watched all manor or white, red, blue, yellow tablets and capsules swirling around. Even _pink_ ones! It was like a deadly rainbow. With a nod and a whisper of goodbye to his intentions he flushed the toilet and watched his escape plan spinning down the drain.

Just as he was throwing the empty packets and pots in the rubbish bin there was a sharp knock at the door. It made him freeze and sent a jolt to his heart. Who would be knocking on the door with two and a half hours left of the year? And why _knock? _He had a perfectly good doorbell.

Suspiciously he crept to the front door and opened it just a crack. Outside he found a woman with long, dark hair, damp from the drizzle. She was clutching a bag and seemed very nervous as her eyes darted around a little and she busied herself chewing on her lip.

"Can… can I help you?" Robin asked.

The woman looked as though her mind had gone blank. She took a moment to regain her composure, then began,

"Robin? Robin Thomas?"

Robin hesitated. The last time someone started a sentence that way it ended with _"I am arresting you for manslaughter by reckless driving."_

"Why?" he asked, "who wants to know?"

The woman pushed her hair out of her face and gave a nervous half-smile.

"You don't know me," she said quietly, "but I knew Simon." She paused as she watched Robin swallow and take a little step backward.

"You worked with him?" he asked.

The woman hesitated.

"Sort of." She paused. "I worked under Gene Hunt." She saw Robin reeling from her words, almost literally falling backwards. "Can I come in?"

The woman's words almost stole Robin's ability to speak. He stared at her for a moment, then gave a silent nod and stepped back to allow her to pass. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end as his pulse went through the roof. Suddenly the end of the year had taken a turn he wasn't expecting.

~xXx~

Kim sat at the stranger's kitchen table. She'd heard so much about Robin that she felt like she knew him already. In reality, they'd passed each other in the office once and spent maybe two hours at opposite ends of the karaoke bar. That was as much time as they'd spent in each other's company.

"I don't think we were ever introduced," she said quietly as Robin shakily filled his glass to the brim, "I only saw you come into the office after arresting Nailer and briefly watched you being persuaded to buy Hunt a round of drinks." She paused. "And I looked very different back then."

Robin sat down and held his glass with trembling hands. He could hardly raise it to his lips to take a sip.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"My name's Kim," she said quietly, "well… technically it's not _now. _I changed it when I came back so I couldn't be traced. But it was when I knew your partner."

Robin stared at her. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of a dream.

"W-why are you here?" he whispered.

Kim looked down. She took a deep breath, then looked at the bottle on the table.

"Do you mind if I have one of those?" she asked.

Robin felt awfully rude suddenly.

"God, I'm so sorry," he got to his feet and raided the cupboard for a clean glass, "I didn't mean to… I mean, I just forgot…"

"It's OK," Kim gave a little smile. Robin was very much as Simon had described him all those years ago. She watched him pouring out the liquid in front of her. "Thank you." She lifted the glass and took a sip, closing her eyes as she did so. She'd been building up to this moment for a long time. For seven years she'd wondered what she would say or how it would go. She took a deep breath. "Simon as very kind to me," she said, "looked after me. It was a bit like having a big brother."

Robin thought that was a strange thing to say since Kim was clearly now a few years older than Simon had been when he died.

"Go on," he prompted.

"We were kind of flat mates for a bit," she continued, "he helped me sort some stuff out. Worked out a way to stop Keats following me when I got home."

"_Keats," _Robin spat out the name as though it poisoned his mouth and drank a lot of brandy to take the taste away.

"There was something he asked me to do in return," she continued, her hands starting to shake a little, "he asked me to pass on a message to you. It's really important."

Robin bit his lip.

"Funny," he said quietly, "seems to be a day of messages."

"He wrote out what he wanted me to tell you," she continued, "I tried to memorise it the best I could, then when I eventually got home I wrote it down, as accurately as I could remember." she reached into her bag and pulled out a plastic wallet that contained her transcript of the letter she'd memorised. As she handed it to Robin a strange kind of electricity surrounded he moment; the passing of a message between dimensions, the giving of words through time.

Robin could feel his blood rushing to his face as he took the letter. He wasn't sure if he wanted to read it or not. It could contain anything, good or bad. It brought him a strange sensation, an indescribable feeling. He looked back at Kim.

"What does it say?" he whispered.

"You can read it when I've gone," she told him, "I haven't looked back at it for years. I wanted to forget enough for it to be private between the two of you." She took a mouthful of brandy and swallowed hard. Her nerves were growing. "But the main thing he needs you to know is that you have to live."

Robin looked down.

"Someone already told me that today," he whispered.

Kim nodded.

"DCI Drake."

"Alex."

Kim cleared her throat.

"Simon needs you to know how important it is that you never, _ever _take your own life," Kim said urgently, "Keats has his own station now. He gets first pick of all suicides. You very nearly ended up as his trump card over Simon."

Sheer horror filled every bone in Robin's body. He felt a horrible sense of nausea swell in his chest.

"I… I never even thought," he whispered, "I just wanted this pain to end."

"It's not the way," said Kim, "you'll be acquitted, You're found innocent and reinstated. You go back to work and carry on as normal."

Robin swallowed.

"How can you know that?" he whispered.

"It was in Simon's file," Kim told him.

Robin chewed nervously on his lip.

"That's… that's why Alex…"

Kim nodded slowly.

"She stopped you from making the biggest of all mistakes," she said, "and Simon asked me to make sure you understood the full implications of what would happen if you ever tried to take your own life."

Robin put his head in his hands. This was a hell of a lot to take in.

"How is he?" he asked quietly, "or how was he when you left?"

"Missing you," Kim said quietly, her voice a little strained, "would have done anything to be back here with you."

Robin nodded slowly.

"I'd give anything for him to be back here too," he whispered.

Kim nodded slowly.

"He told me so much about you," she said, "about all you'd been through together. Surviving his accident, his first time with Hunt and CID, and what Keats tried to do."

Robin could feel anger building up inside of him.

"He tried to destroy us," he said.

"I know."

"Sometimes I still don't know how we survived after Simon came home,"

Kim looked into her glass.

"I wasn't so lucky," she said quietly, "My relationship couldn't have been as strong as yours."

Robin looked downhearted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Kim gave a sad shrug and tried to pull her expression back to a neutral standpoint.

"Going through that is a lot to put on someone," she said quietly, "Simon was lucky he had you. And if we hadn't split up I'd never have met my wife so it's all good," she said pragmatically.

Robin wasn't quite sure what to say. He looked into his glass again and drank some more brandy. He coughed a little, still not used to the harshness of the alcohol.

"What… _year_… did you come from?" he asked.

"I was in two thousand and three when I was stabbed," Kim said quietly, "I went back to early ninety five."

"Shit."

Kim gave a smile.

"You even sound like Simon," she said quietly.

That made Robin smile too.

"I like hearing that," he said quietly. He played with the ring on his finger. This was the closest he'd felt to Simon since he woke up.

Kim reached into her bag again.

"He told me to make this for you as well," she said, pulling a CD from within.

"What's this?"

"Music," Kim said quietly, "he made me memorise the track list. Said he'd pay for a tattoo in exchange for all the bother." she frowned and studied her arm. "Of course, waking up in the real world without the tattoo made that deal a little less equal…" she laughed gently.

"What's on the disc?" Robin asked quietly.

"Play it and see," she said, "Again, it's been a while."

Robin nodded slowly.

"OK," he said, "Thank you. And," he bit his lip, "and thank you for doing this. For Simon. For both of us."

Kim smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sadness. As glad as she was to be home she had never quite managed to get over her time in the nineties or stop missing the friends she had made. To sit beside Simon at Malcolm's funeral and not be able to tell him she missed him or to warn him what he was about to go through killed her inside.

"He said that he doesn't want you to spend your whole life mourning for him," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly, "he knows you love him. He knows you'll never forget him. But he wants you to be happy and to meet someone else who will make you happy."

Robin shook his head slowly.

"I don't think that's possible," he said quietly.

"He says he will always love you," Kim's eyes began to mist up as she began to deliver the end of Simon's message, "he will never forget anything about you. And he says you need to have lots of complex psychological issues over the next thirty years so you'll have plenty of time in Gene's world to work through them all when you finally die."

That brought a smile from Robin.

"That's Simon," he whispered.

Kim drank the rest of her brandy ad sat down her glass. She looked at him with a mix of sadness, fondness and hope.

"I think I should leave you alone to read your letter," she said quietly, "that's what I came to bring you after all."

"You don't have to go yet," Robin told he.

"I think I'd better," Kim said quietly, "I've got to get home to see in the new year with my family. But I'm glad we have finally had the chance to meet." She gave a genuine smile. "I've waited a long time for today."

"Will I ever see you again?" Robin asked.

Kim took a deep breath.

"I don't know," she said, "I hadn't thought beyond today."

"Well maybe we'll run into each other at work?" Robin suggested. He was confused when Kim gave a gentle laugh.

"Not unless you bring your police dogs for a tattoo," she said quietly.

"You're not in the force any longer?"

Kim shook her head.

"A wise man by the name of Simon Shoebury advised me that life as a detective who'd been in a coma was not an easy one with a certain DCI Jim Keats in charge of mental health."

Robin exhaled loudly. He could understand what she meant now.

"I see," he nodded.

He watched Kim get to her feet and give him a warm smile. She waited for Robin to stand up too, then held out her hand.

"Take care, Robin," she said with a gentle smile, "it was good to meet you at last."

Robin felt the room swaying a little from all the alcohol, coupled with the shock. He steadied himself on the table with one hand while he shook Kim's with the other.

"Thank you," he whispered, "for everything."

Kim gave him a smile and allowed herself to be escorted from the room, through the hall to the front door Just a few minutes ago she'd made her entrance there and changed Robin's life.

"Happy new year," she said quietly.

She leaned forward and gave him a gentle hug, although he was too shocked to reciprocate. He watched with a dazed half-smile on his face as the stranger walked away and left him alone once again, a letter and a CD sitting on his kitchen table along with a bottle of drink that, he started to realise, he probably wouldn't be needing again.

**~xXx~**

**Tuesday 21****st**** November 1995**

"How good is your memory?"

Kim frowned. She wasn't sure what kind of favour she could do Simon where a good memory was the main item of importance. Not unless he really, REALLY liked to play _I Took A Trip._

"It's… OK," she said, "Nothing to write home about."

Simon pulled a face.

"That's kind of what I wanted to do," he said.

"What do you mean?" Kim frowned.

Simon gave a deep sigh. He wasn't sure how to explain this.

"Kim, Gene said Alex woke up in two thousand and ten, just for a few seconds," he began, "she told Robin to live. I don't know whether her message has worked… maybe it'll be years before I find out… but there's one other way I can get a message to him."

"How?" asked Kim

Simon took a deep breath.

"Through the one person I know gets home," he said, "the one person I know will make it."

Kim began to understand.

"You mean me?" she asked quietly.

Simon nodded slowly.

"Would you do it?" he asked.

Kim hesitated.

"It won't put me in danger with Keats will it?" she whispered.

"No, no, not at all," Simon promised, "this is new year's eve in two thousand and ten… I mean, where Robin is right now… Keats died months ago. There's no risk. Just a message."

Kim bit her lip, then nodded slowly.

"I can't promise how much of my memory will come home with me," she warned, "but I'll try. I'll try to remember."

Simon nodded.

"You'll remember," he promised.

Kim nodded again.

"I'll do it," she whispered, "I'll give him your message."

Simon closed his eyes and felt his heart flutter like a barrel of butterflies.

"Thank you," he breathed. It was more than he should ever have asked, but it was the one thing that he could think of, the only way to get a message back to Robin. he just hoped this would bring the security that Robin needed and the closure that Simon yearned for.

**~xXx~**

**11:55 New Year's Eve 2010**

Robin had spent the last couple of hours tidying, cleaning and drinking the last of the alcohol that was already in his glass. He put the bottle away in the cupboard, a strange feeling inside of him that he just wouldn't be needing it again.

It was strange, he thought, but he felt as though Simon was almost there with him in the room. It was as close as he was ever going to get to being with him again, to spending a night by his side.

He was glad no one was around to see him or they would surely have laughed as he discarded the scruffy, dirty clothes he'd been wearing for days and took out a smart, clean shirt and trousers, dressed up as though leaving for a date and took to the bedroom with candles and the final sips of brandy.

At one minute to midnight, Robin slipped the CD from its case and put it into his CD player. He pressed 'play' then retreated to the bed in which he hadn't slept for weeks. He couldn't face it without Simon by his side.

The music began to play. _Absolute Beginners._ He closed his eyes and gave a gentle laugh. It was _their _song. He should have known the CD couldn't start any other way.

He held the plastic wallet in his hands and gave a deep sigh. This was it. A message from beyond the grave, in a way. But Robin knew what lay beyond the grave now. It wasn't a mass of harps, wings and clouds. It was home away from home.

He carefully took the pages out of their wallet and unfolded them. They almost burned his fingers with anticipation and promise. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment, the last chance that he had to hear from Simon until the day that a knife or a gun or a rogue fish bone would take his life from him and bring them together again.

As he heard fireworks exploding in the sky outside he opened his eyes and looked at 12:00 glowing in red figures on the bedside clock. It was time. New year with his fiancé. He looked down at the letter and tried to focus on the words before his tears made them illegible,

"_Dear Robin,_

_This letter is current as of November 21__st__ 1995. I don't know when Kim will go home so I can't keep changing it as time goes on in case she can't remember it!_

_I never got to say goodbye. That was the hardest part. I really thought I was alive. I thought I was going to wake up at any time and be back by your side. The day after you disappeared, just after our last time, I found out I didn't make it. When I realised I would never see you again, it was like dying all over again._

_I found out I have a job to do here. I have to help other people. I can't explain it right now but one day you'll understand. I've become like them. Alex, Gene - now me. I don't know how long I will be here. I don't know how long I am going to be needed. But I will be here whenever it's your time._

_Please stay strong. I know what Alex did today. Listen to her. You cannot think about taking your life for any reason or Keats will get you. It's the one thing he is holding over me here. He's disappeared now but he'll be back. I am determined that he won't get his hands on you. I'll protect you with my life and soul._

_Please promise me something, Robin. Live your life. I know that it seems hard right now but everything will work out alright. You will be cleared of all charges and you will be reinstated at work. But you must live the rest of your life too. Don't wait for me, don't deny yourself the chance to be happy, the chance to love someone and share your life with them. I understand. I want you to be happy. That's the only way that I can be happy too._

_I don't know what will happen here in the time between now and when we meet again. I don't know how you will find me. I could be the same person you left behind when you went home. I could be ten stone heavier with a ponytail and heavy facial hair. I can't account for anything that will happen in the next ten, twenty, however many years until we meet again. But if you still want me, I will still love you._

_Live your life for both of us. You'll always be with me._

_With love forever,_

_Si xxx_

Below it was an addendum from Kim;

"_P.S," it said, "the original had more swearing in it but I couldn't remember where all the 'shit's went so I left them out. K x"_

The final words blurred as a teardrop fell on them and spread the ink. He quickly moved the letter before any more could fall and ruin the text. His face contorted into a mixture of joy and sadness. His situation was unique in the world. Although his partner had died he knew he was still out there somewhere, living on. One day they would be together again. Not in a _'we'll be together again when we all meet in heaven' _kind of a way but in a far more down to earth, waking in the past and living your life all over again kind of a way.

As he began to read the letter for the second time the track came to an end and the next began. It was another Bowie song; _Strangers When we Meet_. The lyrics washed over him as the enormity of what he'd experienced that day started to sink in and he began to feel so very tired. With one hand on the letter and the other clasped over his chest to feel the beating of his heart he laid down and slipped into a deep sleep; the first he'd had in many weeks.

No tears. No nightmares. Just blissful, peaceful sleep.

And that's where he stayed until eleven in the morning. The last few weeks had taken so much strength and energy from him. Now, Simon's message started to give him back just a little of that which he'd lost. So deep was his sleep that he slept right through the telephone ringing and it was up to the machine to record the message; and one he would never forget when at last he awoke from his slumber and played it back.

"_Robin, it's Evan White here… Molly thought you'd like to know that Alex… she woke in the early hours of the morning. She's very weak and unable to speak or to move right now but she's back with us and that's the main thing. We both owe you and, of course, Simon a great deal of thanks for the many hours you have spent with her over the last few months. I am sure when she is stronger she would be happy to see you. That's all we were calling to say right now. There's no news on the case I'm afraid but we'll talk about that on Monday. Goodbye, Robin. Happy new year."_

Robin slept on unawares. It had been a day of miracles. Life was full of the unexpected - and Robin knew that now more than ever.

~xXx~

Simon sat in his office, radio quietly playing beside him to drown out Vickery's whimpering. It had been a few hours since he and Gene had paid a visit to the recently awoken Alex. She had been drifting in and out of sleep and hadn't been able to move or speak yet. It would be another day or so before she'd be able to communicate properly. While Gene stayed at the hospital to be kept up to date on any signs of improvement Simon decided to head back to the office, partly because he didn't want to intrude on a private moment between them and partly because an anxious Gene after two hours of sleep and suffering from rabid indigestion wasn't a fun Gene to be around.

He pushed a case file out of the way and pulled a set of papers from his desk drawer. He'd called into the solicitor's on the way back to work to have them drawn up. He took out his pen to sign them, then found to his horror he needed a witness.

"_Shit," _he sighed.

He didn't want to ask Vickery. He'd have to go back to the hospital and get Gene to sign it. Talk about frustrating.

He stared at the document before him.

"_I have given up the use of my name: Simon Shoebury and have adopted for all purposes the name: Simon Shoebury-Thomas. Signed as a deed on 22__nd__ November 1995."_

He put his pen down and ran his fingers through his hair, leaning back a little in his seat. The radio started to wander off the station so he gave it a little thump, then fiddled with the aerial. The volume seemed to rise suddenly, bringing an angry shout from Vickery. Simon gave a half hearted apology and tried to adjust it but the DJ was loud and insistent.

"…_next one goes out there to Simon! Simon, you're hard at work today and this one's for you. This is from Robin."_

Simon froze. A heat travelled through his veins starting in his fingers, running through his hands and arms and all the way through his body, finally rising to his face where it settled as a flush in his cheeks. He stopped stone-still and listened in silence.

"…_He says thank you for the letter, and he'll see you when he can. This one's for the two of you. Have a great day now!"_

Simon though he had to have misheard. He couldn't make any sense of how that happened. He was dead now, there were no messages coming to him as he lay in a hospital bed. So how was this possible?

Eventually he decided to stop questioning the why and concentrate on appreciating that it was happening at all. Sometimes, he supposed, miracles happened. He closed his eyes and listened as the opening bars of a familiar Bowie song.

"…_All my friends_

_Now seem so thin and frail_

_Slinky secrets_

_Hotter than the sun_

_No peachy prayers_

_No trendy rechauffe _

_I'm with you_

_So I can't go on…"_

He leaned back and let the music wash over him. He tried not to let tears well in his eyes but they wee hard to stop. They weren't the same bitter, angry, sad tears he'd been crying since his life had been turned around. They were tears of relief, of joy, knowing that Robin was safe now and that his message had made it home.

"…_All my violence_

_Raining tears upon the sheet_

_I'm bewildered_

_For we're strangers when we meet…"_

Simon stared out of the window. There would be a lot of strangers passing through the doors before he'd see Robin again. Until then he had his ring, one photograph and the memory of the impossible message to see him through.

"…_Blank screen TV_

_Preening ourselves in the snow_

_Forget my name_

_But I'm over you_

_Blended sunrise_

_And it's a dying world_

_Humming Rheingold_

_We scavenge up our clothes…"_

He could almost feel the moment the car struck the tree, recall the sensation of flipping over and over in the air until he awoke in a strange yet familiar world. The moment he realised where he was he would have done anything to escape it. While he would still do anything to get back to Robin, Gene's world didn't seem to bad any more.

"…_All my violence_

_Raining tears upon the sheet_

_I'm resentful_

_For we're strangers when we meet…"_

He took a deep breath. He remembered adding this to his track list for Kim to memorise. It would reach him. The message would _reach_ him! That made a wealth of emotion swell inside of him. He couldn't really ask for more than that.

"_..Cold tired fingers_

_Tapping out your memories_

_Halfway sadness_

_Dazzled by the new_

_Your embrace_

_Was all that I feared_

_That whirling room_

_We trade by vendu…"_

Simon got to his feet, ignoring the strange looks from Vickery. He didn't care. He danced alone, right there and then.

"…_Steely resolve_

_Is falling from me_

_My poor soul_

_All bruised passivity_

_All your regrets_

_Ride rough-shod over me_

_I'm so glad_

_That we're strangers when we meet_

_I'm so thankful_

_That we're strangers when we meet_

_I'm in clover_

_For we're strangers when we meet_

_Heel head over_

_And we're strangers when we meet…"_

Simon's heart didn't stop racing for hours. That one moment, that one miracle had given him the boost he needed. He knew he would be alright. He would miss Robin and would yearn to be with him until the fates stepped in and reunited them. But he knew that he would be aright. He'd found what he was supposed to do in life - well, in _death. _He had a place in this world.

Humming the tune to himself, he picked up the envelope containing his deed poll and walked from the office like he was walking on air. I was time to find Gene, get those papers witnessed and make sure that he would never ever forget the importance of Robin in his life; until one day the man to walk through the door of his office was far from a stranger. That day would come, of that he was certain.

Until then he was going to be just fine.

**~*~xXx~*~ **

**To Be Continued! **

**~*~xXx~*~**

_**And so, the trilogy accidentally becomes a quadrilogy! The story arc that began with Out of the Window and carried on through Absolute Beginners is complete, but yes, apparently I can**__**'t leave this thread alone so there's going to be another story following to address the double Alex issue! Uh… but don't expect it to be updated quite as maniacally as this one! *Dies***_

_**I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has favourited and put this story on alert, and especially to everyone who has reviewed it. You have really helped to inspire me to keep going. Thank you SO much for sharing this journey with me. It has been a long ride. I know I'm behind on replying to reviews, I'm so sorry - I'm going to be thanking everyone who has commented on this fic next week (I'm away for the weekend - hopefully my fingers will recuperate a little!)**_

_**Thank you in particular to one very dear friend I made during the writing of this fic - you have really given me inspiration and helped me so much. You know who you are :)**_

_**This fic has been a total labour of love. It has barely been off my mind. It has spanned a couple of difficult months IRL for me and gave me a focus. I kind of ended up living, eating and breathing this fic for the last 2 and a half months. I can't explain it… I got into a kind of mindset I haven't experienced in years with writing. My muse came back to life. Yeah, so it then held me hostage and tried to kill me but am I ever grateful to have it back! **_

_**Ironically, as I come to complete the story, a verse from Strangers When We Meet sums up what the last few weeks have been like:**_

"_**Cold tired fingers**_

_**Tapping out your memories**_

_**Halfway sadness**_

_**Dazzled by the new**_

_**Your embrace**_

_**Was all that I feared**_

_**That whirling room**_

_**We trade by vendu"**_

_**So yeah, I apparently picked the right title!**_

_**Now it's time to let my fingers rest, finally. Thank you for all of your encouragement and for enjoying this story. I'll be starting the sequel soon and I hope you'll follow the next instalment!**_

_**M x x**_


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